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BOOKS OF SONG". 



BY 



HENRY WADSWOETH LONGFELLOW. 



BOSTON: 
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY. 

1872. 



P5 

(S7" 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, 

BY HENKY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 






Univlrsity Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 
Cambridge. 



CONTENTS 



« 

BOOK FIRST. 
TALES OF A WAYSIDE INK. 

THE SECOND DAY, 

PAGS 

Prelude 3 

The Sicilian's Tale. 

The Bell of Atri 11 

Interlitde ........ 18 

The Spanish Jew's Tale. 

Kambalu . . 22 

Interlude .28 

The Student's Tale. 

The Cobbler of Hagenau 30 

Interlude . 43 

The Musician's Tale. 

The Ballad of Carmilhan .... 47 

Interlude 64 

The Poet's Tale. 

Lady Wentworth 67 

Interlude 77 



IV CONTENTS. 

The Theologian's Tale. 

The Legend Beautiful . . . . ,79 

Inteeltjde 87 

The Student's Second Tale. 

The Baeon of St. Castine .... 90 

Finale 107 

BOOK SECOND. 

JUDAS MACCABiEUS Ill 

BOOK THIRD. 

A HANDFUL OF TEANSLATIONS. 

The Fugitive , 177 

The Siege of Kazan ...... 184 

The Boy and the Bkook 186 

To THE Stoek 188 

Consolation 190 

To Caedinal Richelieu 193 

The Angel and the Child . . . . .195 

To Italy 198 

"Wandeeee's ITight-Songs 200 

Remoese 202 

Santa Teeesa's Book-Mark 204 



BOOK FIEST. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 

THE SECOND DAY. 



PRELUDE. 

A COLD, uninterrupted rain, 

That washed each southern window-pane, 

And made a river of the road ; 

A sea of mist that overflowed 

The house, the barns, the gilded vane, 

And drowned the upland and the plain, 

Through which the oak-trees, broad and high, 

Like phantom ships went drifting by ; 

And, hidden behind a watery screen. 

The sun unseen, or only seen 

As a faint pallor in the sky ; — 

Thus cold and colorless and gray. 

The morn of that autumnal day, 

As if reluctant to begin. 



TALES OF A ^fAYSIDE INN. 

Dawned on the silent Sudbury Inn, 

«. 
And all the guests that in it lay. 

Full late they slept. They did not hear 
The challenge of Sir Chanticleer, 
Who on the empty threshing-floor, 
Disdainful of the rain outside, 
Was strutting with a martial stride. 
As if upon his thigh he wore 
The famous broadsword of the Squire, 
And said, '' Behold me and admire ! " 

Only the Poet seemed to liear. 
In drowse or dream, more near and near 
Across the border-land of sleep 
The blowing of a blithesome horn, 
That laughed the dismal day to scorn ; 
A splash of hoofs and rush of wheels 
Through sand and mire like stranding keels, 
As from the road with sudden sweep 

\ 



V 



PRELUDE. 

The Mail drove up the little steep, 
And stopped beside the tavern door ; 
A moment stopped, and then again 
With crack of whip and bark of dog 
Plunged forward through the sea of fog, 
And all was silent as before, — 
All silent save the dripping rain. 

Then one by one the guests came down, 
And greeted with a smile the Squire, 
Who sat before the parlor fire, 
Eeading the paper fresh from town. 
First the Sicilian, like a bird. 
Before his form appeared, was heard 
Wliistling and singing do^vn the stair ; 
Then came the Student, with a look 
As placid as a meadow-brook ; 
The Theologian, still perplexed 
With thoughts of this world and the next ; 
The Poet then, as one who seems 



TALES iJV A WAYSIDE INX. 

Walking in visions and in dreams ; 
Then the Musician, like a fair 
Hyperion from whose golden hair 
The radiance of the morning streams ; 
And last the aromatic Jew 
Of Alicant, who, as he threw 
The door wide open, on the air 
Breathed round about him a perfume 
Of damask roses in full bloom, 
Maid u or a garden of the room. 

The breakfast ended, each pursued 
The promptings of his various mood ; 
Beside the fire in silence smoked 
The taciturn, impassive Jew, 
Lost iQ a pleasant reverie ; 
While, by his gravity provoked, 
Hi?; portrait the Sicilian drew. 
And wrote beneath it " Edrehi, 
At the Eed Horse in Sudbury." 



PRELUDE. 7 

By far the busiest of tliem all, 

The Theologian in the hall 

Was feeding robins in a cage, — 

Two corpulent and lazy birds, 

Vagrants and pilferers at best, • 

If one might trust the hostler's \Yords, 

Chief instrument of their arrest ; 

Two poets of the Golden Age, 

Heirs of a boundless heritage 

Of fields and orchards, east and west, 

And sunshine of long summer days. 

Though outlawed now and dispossessed ! — 

Such was the Theologian's phrase. 

Meanwhile the Student held discourse 
With the Musician, on the source 
Of all the legendary lore 
Among the nations, scattered wide 
Like silt and seaweed by the force 
And fluctuation of the tide ; 



8 TALES OF A WAYSIDE ESy. 

The tale repeated o'er and o'er. 
With change of place and change of name, 
Disguised, transformed, and yet the same 
We 've heard a hundred times before. 

The P:-: at the window mused. 

And saw, as in a dream confosed. 

The countenance of the Sun, discrowned. 

And haggard with a pale despair, 

A:: 1 saw the cloud-rack trail and drift 

Eri re it, and the trees uplift 

Their leafless branches, and the air 

Filled with the arrows of the raio. 

And heard amid the mist below, 

like voices of distress and pain. 

That haunt the thoughts of men insane, 

The fateful cawings of the crow. 

Then down the road, with mud besprent. 
And drenched with rain from head to hoof. 



PRELUDE. 

The rain-drops dripping from his mane 
And tail as from a pent-house roof, 
A jaded horse, his head down bent. 
Passed slowly, limping as he went. 

The young Sicilian — who had grown 
Impatient longer to abide 
A prisoner, greatly mortified 
To see completely overthrown 
His plans for angling in the brook. 
And, leaning o'er the bridge of stone. 
To watch the speckled trout glide by. 
And float through the inverted sky. 
Still round and round the baited hook — 
Now paced the room with rapid stride. 
And, pausing at the Poet's side. 
Looked forth, and saw the wretched steed. 
And said : " Alas for human greed, 
That with cold hand and stony eye 
Thus turns an old friend out to die, 



10 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Or beg his food from gate to gate ! 
This brings a tale into my mind, 
Which, if yoTi are not disinclined 
To listen, I will now relate." 

All gave assent ; all wished to hear, 
Not without many a jest and jeer. 
The story of a spavined steed ; 
And eyen the Student with the rest 
Put in his pleasant little jest 
Out of Malherbe, that Pegasus 
Is but a horse that with all speed 
Bears poets to the hospital ; 
While the Sicilian, self-possessed, 
After a moment's interval 
Began his simple story thus. 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE. 

THE BELL OF ATRI. 

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town 

Of ancient Eoman date, but scant renown, 

One of those little places that have ran 

Half np the hill, beneath a blazing sun, 

And then sat down to rest, as if to say, 

" I climb no farther upward, come what may," — 

The Ee Giovanni, now unknown to fame. 

So many monarchs since have borne the name, 

Had a great bell hung in the market-place 

Beneath a roof, projecting some small space. 

By way of shelter from the sun and rain. 

Then rode he through the streets with all his 

train. 
And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long. 



12 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Made proclamation, that whenever wrong 
Was done to any man, he should but ring 
The great bell in the square, and he, the King, 
Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon. 
Such was the proclamation of King John. 

How swift the happy days in Atri sped. 

What wrongs were righted, need not here be 

said. 
Suffice it that, as aU things must decay, 
The hempen rope at length was worn away, 
Unravelled at the end, and, strand by strand, 
Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand. 
Till one, who noted this in passing by. 
Mended the rope with braids of briony, 
So that the leaves and tendrils of the vine 
Hung like a votive garland at a shrine. 

By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt 

A knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt, 



THE BELL OF ATRL 13 

Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods, 
Who loved his falcons with their crimson hoods, 
Who loved his hounds and horses, and all sports 
And prodigalities of camps and courts ; — 
Loved, or had loved them ; for at last, grown old, 
His only passion was the love of gold. 

He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds, 
Eented his vineyards and his garden-grounds. 
Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all, 
To starve and shiver in a naked stall. 
And day by day sat brooding in his chair. 
Devising plans how best to hoard and spare. 

At length he said : " What is the use or need 
To keep at my own cost this lazy steed. 
Eating his head off in my stables here, 
When rents are low and provender is dear ? 
Let him go feed upon the public ways ; 
I want him only for the holidays." 



14 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

So the old steed was turned into the heat 
Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless street ; 
And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn, 
Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier and thorn. 

One afternoon, as in that sultry clime 
It is the custom in the summer time. 
With bolted doors and window-shutters closed, 
The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed ; 
When suddenly upon their senses fell 
The loud alarum of the accusing bell ! 
The Syndic started from his deep repose, 
Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose 
And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace 
Went panting forth into the market-place, 
Where the great bell upon its cross-beam swung 
Eeiterating with persistent tongue. 
In half-articulate jargon, the old song : 
"Some one hath done a -vvTong, hath done a 
wrong ! " 



THE BELL OF ATRL 15 

But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade 
He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade, 
No shape of human form of woman born. 
But a poor steed dejected and forlorn. 
Who with uplifted head and eager eye 
Was tugging at the vines of briony. 
" Domeneddio ! " cried the Syndic straight, 
" This is the Knight of Atri's steed of state ! 
He calls for justice, being sore distressed. 
And pleads his cause as loudly as the best." 

Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd 
Had rolled together like a summer cloud. 
And told the story of the wretched beast 
In five-and-twenty different ways at least. 
With much gesticulation and appeal 
To heathen gods, in their excessive zeal. 
The Kjiight was called and questioned ; in reply 
Did not confess the fact, did not deny ; 
Treated the matter as a pleasant jest. 



16 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And set at naught the Syndic and the rest, 
Maintaining in an angry undertone, 
That he should do what pleased him with his 
own. 

And thereupon the Syndic gravely read 
The proclamation of the King ; then said : 
" Pride goeth forth on horseback gxand and gay, 
But cometh back on foot, and begs its way ; 
Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds, 
Of flowers of chivalry and not of weeds ! 
These are familiar proverbs ; but I fear 
They never yet have reached your knightly ear. 
What fair renown, what honor, what repute 
Can come to you from starving this poor brute ? 
He who serves well and speaks not, merits more 
Than they who clamor loudest at the door. 
Therefore the law decrees that as this steed 
Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take 
heed 



THE BELL OF ATRI. 17 

To comfort his old age, and to provide 
Shelter in stall, and food and field beside." 

The Knight withdrew abashed ; the people all 
Led home the steed in triumph to his stall. 
The King heard and approved, and laughed in 

glee, 
And cried aloud : " Eight well it pleaseth me ! 
Church-bells at best but ring us to the door ; 
But go not in to mass ; my bell doth more : 
It Cometh into court and pleads the cause 
Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws ; 
And this shall make, in every Christian clime, 
The Bell of Atri famous for all time." 



IXTEELUDE. 

'•' Ye$, ^vell your story pleads the cause 

Of those dumb mouths that have no speech, 

Only a cr\' from each to each 

In its own kind, with its own laws ; 

Something that is beyond the reach 

Of human power to learn or teach, — 

An inarticulate moan of pain. 

Like the immeasurable main 

Breaking upon an unknown beach." 

Thus spake the Poet with a sigh ; 
Then added, with impassioned cry, 
As one who feels the words he speaks. 
The color flushing in his cheeks, 
The ferv^or burning in his eye : 



INTERLUDE. 19 

^' Among the noblest in the land, 
Though he may count himself the least, 
That man I honor and revere 
Who without favor, without fear, 
In the great city dares to stand 
The friend of every friendless beast, 
And tames with his unflinching hand 
The brutes that wear our form and face, 
The were-wolves of the human race ! " 
Then paused, and waited with a frown. 
Like some old champion of romance, 
"Who, having thrown his gauntlet down. 
Expectant leans upon his lance ; 
But neither Knight nor Squire is found 
To raise the gauntlet from the ground. 
And try with him the battle's chance. 

" Wake from your dreams, Edrehi ! 
Or dreaming speak to us, and make 
A feint of being half awake, 



20 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And tell us what your dreams may be. 

Out of the hazy atmosphere 

Of cloud-land deign to reappear 

Among us in tliis Wayside Inn ; 

Tell us what ^dsions and what scenes 

Illuminate the dark ravines 

In which you grope your way. Begin ! " 

Thus the Sicilian spake. The Jew 
Made no reply, hut only smiled, 
As men unto a wayward child, 
Not knowing what to answer, do. 
As from a cavern's mouth, o'ergrown 
With moss and intertangled vines, 
A streamlet leaps into the light 
And murmurs over root and stone 
In a melodious undertone; 
Or as amid the noonday night 
Of sombre and Tvind-haunted pines. 
There runs a sound as of the sea ; 



INTERLUDE, 21 

So from his bearded lips there came 

A melody without a name, 

A song, a tale, a history, 

Or whatsoever it may be. 

Writ and recorded in these lines. 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. 

KAMBALU. 

Into the city of Kambalu, 
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan, 
At the head of his dusty caravan, 
Laden with treasure from realms afar, 
Baldacca and Kelat and Kandahar, 
Eode the great captain Alau. 

The Khan from his palace- window gazed, 
And saw in the thronging street beneath. 
In the light of the setting sun, that blazed 
Through the clouds of dust by the caravan raised. 
The flash of harness and jewelled sheath. 
And the shining scymitars of the guard. 
And the weary camels that bared their teeth, 



KAMBALU. 23 

As they passed and passed through the gates 

unbarred 
Into the shade of the palace-yard. 

Thus into the city of Kambalu 

Eode the great captain Alau ; 

And he stood before the Khan, and said : 

" The enemies of my lord are dead ; 

All the Kalifs of all the AVest 

Bow and obey thy least behest ; 

The plains are dark with the mulberry-trees, 

The weavers are busy in Samarcand, 

The miners are sifting the golden sand, 

The divers plunging for pearls in the seas. 

And peace and plenty are in the land. 

'' Baldacca's Kahf, and he alone, 
Eose in revolt against thy throne : 
His treasures are at thy palace-door, 



24 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

With the swords and the shawls and the jewels 

he wore ; 
His body is dust o'er the desert blown. 



" A mile outside of Baldacca's gate 
I left my forces to lie in wait, 
Concealed by forests and hillocks of sand, 
And forward dashed with a handful of men, 
To lure the old tiger from his den 
Into the ambush I had planned. 
Ere we reached the town the alarm was spread, 
For we heard the sound of gongs from withm ; 
And with clash of cymbals and warlike din 
The gates swung wide ; and we turned and fled ; 
And the garrison sallied forth and pursued. 
With the gray old Kalif at their head, 
And above them the banner of Mohammed : 
So we snared them all, and the town was sub- 
dued. 



KAMBALU. 25 

^^ As in at the gate we rode, behold, 

A tower that is called the Tower of Gold ! 

For there the Kalif had hidden his wealth, 

Heaped and hoarded and piled on high, 

Like sacks^of wheat in a granary ; 

And thither the miser crept by stealth 

To feel of the gold that gave him health. 

And to gaze and gloat with his hungry eye 

On jewels that gleamed like a glow-worm's 

spark. 
Or the eyes of a panther in the dark. 

" I said to the KaHf : ' Thou art old. 
Thou hast no need of so much gold. 
Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it 

here. 
Till the breath of battle was hot and near. 
But have sown through the land these useless 

hoards 
To spring into shining blades of swords. 



26 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And keep tliine honor sweet and clear. 
These grains of gold are not grains of wheat ; 
These bars of silver thou canst not eat ; 
These jewels and pearls and precious stones 
Cannot cure the aches in thy bones, 
Nor keep the feet of Death one hour 
Trom clinxbing the stairways of thy tower !' 

'' Then into his dungeon I locked the drone, 
And left him to feed there all alone 
In the honey-cells of his golden hive : 
Never a prayer, nor a cry, nor a groan 
"Was heard from those massive walls of stone, 
Nor again was the Kalif seen alive ! 

" When at last we unlocked the door, 

We found him dead upon the floor ; 

The rings had dropped from his withered hands, 

His teeth were like bones in the desert sands : 

Still clutching his treasure he had died ; 



KAMBALU. 27 

And as he lay there, he appeared 
A statue of gold with a silver beard. 
His arms outstretched as if crucified." 

This is the story, strange and true, 
That the great captain Alau 
Told to his brother the Tartar Khan, 
When he rode that day into Kambalu 
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan. 



INTERLUDE. 

" I THOUGHT before your tale began/' 
The Student murmured, '' we should have 
Some legend written by Judah Eav 
In his Gemara of Babylon ; 
Or something from the Gulistan, — 
The tale of the Cazy of Hamadan, 
Or of that King of Khorasan 
Who saw in dreams the eyes of one 
That had a hundred years been dead 
Still moving restless in his head, 
Undimmed, and gleaming with the lust 
Of power, though all the rest was dust. 

^' But lo ! your glittering caravan 
On the road that leadeth to Ispahan 



INTERLUDE. 29 

Hath led us farther to the East 
Into the regions of Cathay. 
Spite of your Kalif and his gold, 
Pleasant has been the tale you told, 
And full of color ; that at least 
No one will question or gainsay. 
And yet on such a dismal day 
We need a merrier tale to clear 
The dark and heavy atmosphere. 
So listen, Lordlings, while I tell. 
Without a preface, what befell 
A simple cobbler, in the year — 
No matter ; it was long ago ; 
And that is all we need to know." 



THE STIDEXT'S TALE. 

THE COBBLER OF HAGEXAU. 

I TEUST that somewliere and somehow 
You all have heard of Hagenau, 
A quiet, quaint, and ancient town 
Amon^ the crreen Alsatian hills, 
A place of valleys, streams, and mills, 
Where Barbarossa's castle, brown 
"With rust of centuries, still looks down 
On the broad, drowsy land below, — 
On shadowy forests filled with game. 
And the blue river winding slow 
Through meadows, where the hedges grow 
That give this little town its name. 

It happened in the good old times. 
While yet the IMaster-siagers filled 



THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU. 31 

The noisy workshop and the guild 
With various melodies and rhymes, 
That here in Hagenau there dwelt 
A cobbler, — one who loved debate, 
And, arguing from a postulate. 
Would say what others only felt ; 
A man of forecast and of thrift. 
And of a shrewd and careful mind 
In this world's business, but inclined 
Somewhat to let the next world drift. 

Hans Sachs with vast delight he read, 
And Eegenbogen's rhymes of love. 
For their poetic fame had spread 
Even to the town of Hagenau ; 
And some Quick Melody of the Plough, 
Or Double Harmony of the Dove, 
Was always running in his head. 
He kept, moreover, at his side, 
Among his leathers and his tools, 



32 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Eeynard the Fox, the Ship of Tools, 

Or Eulenspiegel, open wid'e ; 

With these he was much edified : 

He thought them wiser than the Schools. 

His good wife, full of godly fear, 

Liked not these worldly themes to hear ; 

The Psalter was her book of songs ; 

The only music to her ear 

Was that which to the Church belongs, 

When the loud choir on Sunday chanted, 

And the two angels carved in wood, 

That by the windy organ stood. 

Blew on their trumpets loud and clear. 

And all the echoes, far and near. 

Gibbered as if the church were haunted. 

Outside his door, one afternoon, 
This humble votary of the muse 
Sat in the narrow strip of shade 



THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU. 33 

By a projecting cornice made. 
Mending tlie Burgomaster's shoes. 
And singing a familiar tune : 

'' Our ingress into the world 

Was naked and bare ; 
Our progress through the world 

Is trouble and care ; 
Our egress from the world 

Will be nobody knows where : 
But if we do well here 

We shall do well there ; 
And I could tell you no more, 

Should I preach a whole year ! " 

Thus sang the cobbler at his work ; 
And with his gestures marked the time, 
Closing together with a jerk 
Of his waxed thread the stitch and rhyme. 
Meanwhile his quiet little dame 

3 



34 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Was leaning o'er the window-sill, 

Eager, excited, but mouse-still, 

Gazing impatiently to see 

What the great throng of folk might be 

That onward in procession came^ 

Along the unfrequented street. 

With horns that blew, and drums that beat, 

And banners flying, and the flame 

Of tapers, and, at times, the sweet 

Voices of nuns ; and as they sang 

Suddenly all the church-bells rang. 

In a gay coach, above the crowd. 
There sat a monk in ample hood. 
Who with his right hand held aloft 
A red and ponderous cross of wood. 
To which at times he meekly bowed. ^ 
In front three horsemen rode, and oft. 
With voice and air importunate, 
A boisterous herald cried aloud : 



THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU. 35 

" The grace of God is at your gate ! " 
So onward to the church they passed. 

The cobbler slowly turned his last. 
And, wagging his sagacious head, 
Unto his kneeling housewife said : 
'^ 'T is the monk Tetzel. I have heard 
The cawings of that reverend bird. 
Don't let him cheat you of your gold ; 
Indulgence is not bought and sold." 

The church of Hagenau, that night, 
Was full of people, full of light ; 
An odor of incense filled the air, 
The priest intoned, the organ groaned 
Its inarticulate despair ; 
The candles on the altar blazed, 
And full in front of it upraised 
The red cross stood against the glare. 
Below, upon the altar-rail 



36 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Indulgences were set to sale, 

Like ballads at a country fair. 

A heavy strong-box, iron-bound 

And carved with many a quaint device, 

Eeceived, with a melodious sound. 

The coin that purchased Paradise. 

Then from the pulpit overhead, - 
Tetzel the monk, with fiery glow, 
Thundered upon the crowd below, 
" Good people all, draw near ! " he said ; 
'' Purchase these letters, signed and sealed, 
By which all sins, though unrevealed 
And unrepented, are forgiven ! 
Count but the gain, count not the loss ! 
Your gold and silver are but dross. 
And yet they pave the way to heaven. 
I hear your mothers and your sires 
Cry from their purgatorial fires, 
And will ye not their ransom pay ? 



THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU. 37 

senseless people ! when the gate 
Qf heaven is open, will ye wait ? 
Will ye not enter in to-day ? 
To-morrow it will be too late ; 

1 shall be gone upon my way. 

Make haste ! bring money while ye may ! '* 

The women shuddered, and turned pale ; 

Allured by hope or driven by fear, 

With many a sob and many a tear, 

All crowded to the altar-rail. 

Pieces of silver and of gold 

Into the tinkling strong-box fell 

Like pebbles dropped into a well ; 

And soon the ballads were all sold. 

The cobbler's wife among the rest 

Slipped into the capacious chest 

A golden florin ; then withdrew. 

Hiding the paper in her breast ; 

And homeward through the darkness went 



38 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Comforted, quieted, content ; 
She did not walk, she rather flew, 
A dove that settles to her nest. 
When some appalling bird of prey 
That scared her has been driven away. 

The days went by, the monk was gone, 

The summer passed, the winter came ; 

Though seasons changed, yet still the same 

The daily round of life went on ; 

The daily round of household care, 

The narrow life of toil and prayer. 

But in her heart the cobbler's dame 

Had now a treasure beyond price, 

A secret joy without a name, 

The certainty of Paradise. 

Alas, alas ! Dust unto dust ! 

Before the winter wore away, 

Her body in the churchyard lay. 

Her patient soul was with the Just ! 



THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU. 39 

After her death, among the things 
That even the poor preserve with care, — 
Some little trinkets and cheap rings, 
A locket with her mother's hair, 
Her wedding gown, the faded flowers 
She wore upon her wedding day, — 
Among these memories of past hours. 
That so much of the heart reveal, 
Carefully kept and put away. 
The Letter of Indulgence lay 
Folded, with signature and seal. 

Meanwhile the Priest, aggrieved and pained. 
Waited and wondered that no word 
Of mass or requiem he heard. 
As by the Holy Church ordained : 
Then to the Magistrate complained, 
That as this woman had been dead 
A week or more, and no mass said, 
It was rank heresy, or at least 



40 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Contempt of Church ; thus said the Priest ; 
And straight the cobbler was arraigned. 

He came, confiding in his cause. 

But rather doubtful of the laws. 

The Justice from his elbow-chair 

Grave him a look that seemed to say : 

" Thou standest before a Magistrate, 

Therefore do not prevaricate ! " 

Then asked him in a business way, 

Kindly but cold : '"' Is thy wife dead ? " 

The cobbler meeklv bowed his head : 

" She is " came struggling from his throat 

Scarce audibly. The Justice wrote 

The words down in a book, and then 

Continued, as he raised his pen : 

'' She is ; and hath a mass been said 

For the salvation of her soul ? 

Come, speak the truth ! confess the whole ! " 

The cobbler without pause replied : 



THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU. 41 

" Of mass or prayer there was no need ; 
For at the moment when she died 
Her soul was with the glorified ! " 
And from his pocket with all speed 
He drew the priestly title-deed. 
And prayed the Justice he would read. 

The Justice read, amused, amazed ; 
And as he read his mirth increased ; 
At times his shaggy brows he raised, 
Now wondering at the cobbler gazed, 
Now archly at the angry Priest. 
" From all excesses, sins, and crimes ^ 
Thou hast committed in past times 
Thee I absolve ! And furthermore, 
Purified from all earthly taints. 
To the communion of the Saints 
And to the sacraments restore ! 
All stains of weakness, and all trace 
Of shame and censure I efface : 



42 - TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Eemit the pains thou shouldst endure, 
And make thee innocent and pure, 
So that in dying, unto thee 
The gates of heaven shall open be ! 
Though long thou livest, yet this grace 
Until the moment of thy death 
Unchangeable aontinueth ! '' 

Then said he to the Priest : " I find 
This document is duly signed 
Brother John Tetzel, his own hand. 
At all tribunals in the land 
In evidence it may be used ; 
Therefore acquitted is the accused." 
Then to the cobbler turned : " My friend. 
Pray tell me, didst thou ever read 
Pteynard the Fox V' — ''0 yes, indeed ! '' — 
" I thought so. Don't forget the end." 



INTERLUDE. 

^' What was the end ? I am ashamed 
Not to remember Eeynard's fate ; 
I have not read the book of late ; 
Was he not hanged ? " the Poet said. 
The Student gravely shook his head, , 
And answered : '' You exaggerate. 
There was a tournament proclaimed. 
And Eeynard fought with Isegrim 
The Wolf, and having vanquished him, 
Eose to high honor in the State, 
And Keeper of the Seals was named ! 

At this the gay Sicilian laughed : 

^' Fight fire with fire, and craft with craft ; 



44 TAT.F,S OK A >VA\,sil)i: INN. 

Suoooasful ('iiiinin;jf sooina to bo 
'J'ho iii()r;il of \(Uir (aK\" said Ik!. 
" Millie lijiil !i, lu^llvr, and Mio Jow's 
llail iioiK* af. all, llial. 1 could aco; 
Ilia aim was only to aniiiao." 

]\Ii\iin\ liil(* IVoiu (Hit its (^l)i)n case 

His violin ilio IMiiislivl drew, 

And lia\ini;" (iiiumI its strings aiu^w, 

Now ludtl i(, clo^c in his (Muhraco, 

And |H)isin«jf in his outstrotcluul hand 

'V\\c how, \\ko a niai^ician's \\and, 

lie paused, and said, w ilh heaniiuL;' lace 

"Last nij^hl luy story Mas ioo loiis^' ; 

To-day 1 give yi>u hut a song, 

An (^Id tradition o( llie Noi'th; 

r»ul lirst. to pul you in the mood, 

1 \N ill a littK^ w hih^ prelude, 

uVnd iVoni this instrument draw I'oi'th 

Sonu^thinsr hv ^vav o( oMMiure." 



INTEIILUDB. 4r) 

IIc3 j)ljiy(Ml; at first Uic tomtH were pure 

And tender as a summer night, 

The full moon climbing to lu^r lieight, 

The sob and ripple of the seas, 

The llaj)f)ing of an idle sail ; 

And then by suddcjn and sliarp degrees 

Tlie mu]ti|)lied, wild liarmonies 

Freshened and burst into a gale ; 

A tempest liowling through the dark, 

A crash as of some shipwrecked bark, 

A loud and melancholy wail. 

Such was the prelude to the talc 
Told by tlie Minstrel ; and at times 
lie jjaused amid its varying rliymes, 
And at each pause again broke in 
The music of liis violin. 
With tones of sweetness or of fear, 
Movements of trou1;le or of calm, 



46 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Creating their own atmosphere ; 
As sitting in a church we hear 
Between the verses of the psalm 
The organ playing soft and clear, 
Or thundering on the startled ear. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE. 

THE BALLAD OF CARMILH4N. 
I. 

At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea^ 

Within the sandy bar. 
At sunset of a summer's day, 
Eeady for sea, at anchor lay 

The good ship Valdemar. 

The sunbeams danced upon the waves. 

And played along her side ; 
And through the cabin windows streamed 
In ripples of golden light, that seemed 

The ripple of the tide. 

There sat the captain with his friends. 
Old skippers brown and hale. 



4:8 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



Who smoked and grumbled o'er their grog, 
And talked of iceberg and of fog, 
Of calm and storm and gale. 



And one was spinning a sailor's yarn 

About Klaboterman, 
The Kobold of the sea ; a sprite 
Invisible to mortal sight, 

Who o'er the rigging ran. 

Sometimes he hammered in the hold. 

Sometimes upon the mast, 
Sometimes abeam, sometimes abaft. 
Or at the bows he sang and laughed. 

And made all tight and fast. 

He helped the sailors at their work, 

And toiled with jovial din; 
He helped them hoist and reef the sails. 
He helped them stow the casks and bales. 

And heave the anchor in ^ 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 49 

But woe unto the lazy louts. 

The idlers of the crew ; 
Them to torment was his delight^ 
And worry them by day and night, 

And pinch them black and blue. 

And woe to him whose mortal eyes 

Klaboterman behold. 
It is a certain sign of death ! — 
The cabin-boy here held his breath, 

He felt his blood run cold. 



50 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



\ 



n. 

The jolly skipper paused awhile, 

And then again began ; 
" There is a Spectre Ship/' quoth he, 
'' A Ship of the Dead that sails the sea, 

And is called the Carmilhan. 

" A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew, 

In tempests she appears ; 
And before the gale, or against the gale. 
She sails without a rag of sail. 

Without a helmsman steers. 

^^ She haunts the Atlantic north and south. 

But mostly the mid-sea. 
Where three great rocks rise bleak and bare 
Like furnace-chimneys in the air, 

And are called the Chimneys Three. 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 61 

^^ And ill betide the luckless ship 

That meets the Carmilhan ; 
Over her decks the seas will leap, 
She must go down into the deep, 

And perish mouse and man." 

The captain of the Valdemar 

Laughed loud with merry heart. 
" I should like to see this ship/' said he ; 
" I should like to find these Chimneys Three, 

That are marked down in the chart. 

'' I have sailed right over the spot/' he said, 

" With a good stiff breeze behind, 
When the sea was blue, and the sky was clear, — 
You can follow my course by these pinholes 
here, — 

And never a rock could find." 

And then he swore a dreadful oath. 
He swore by the Kingdoms Three, 



# 



52 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

That, should he meet the Carmilhan, 
He would run her down, although he ran 
Eight into Eternity ! 

All this, while passing to and fro, 

The cabin-boy had heard ; 
He lingered at the door to hear, 
And drank in all with greedy ear. 

And pondered every word. 

He was a simple country lad. 

But of a roving mind. 
" 0, it must be like heaven/' thought he, 
" Those far-off foreign lands to see. 

And fortune seek and find ! " 



But in the fo'castle, when he heard 

The mariners blaspheme. 
He thought of home, he thought of God, 
And his mother under the churchyard sod, 

And wished it were a dream. 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 53 

One friend on board that ship had he ; 

'T was the Klaboterman, 
Who saw the Bible in his chest. 
And made a sign upon his breast. 

All evil things to ban. 



54 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



III. 

The cabin windows have grown blank 

As eyeballs of the dead ; 
No more the glancing sunbeams burn 
On the gilt letters of the stern, 

But on the figure-head ; 

On Valdemar Victorious, 

Who looketh with disdain 
To see his image in the tide 
Dismembered float from side to side, 
And reunite again. 

" It is the wind," those skippers said, 

'' That swings the vessel so ; 
It is the wind ; it freshens fast, 
'T is time to say farewell at last, 
'T is time for us to go." 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 55 

They shook the captain by the hand, 

" Good luck ! good luck ! " they cried ; 
Each face was like the setting sun. 
As, broad and red, they one by one 
Went o'er the vessel's side. 

The sun went down, the full moon rose, 

Serene o'er field and flood ; 
And all the winding creeks and bays 
And broad sea-meadows seemed ablaze, 

The sky was red as blood. 

The southwest wind blew fresh and fair. 

As fair as wind could be ; 
Bound for Odessa, o'er the bar, 
With all sail set, the Valdemar 

Went proudly out to sea. 

The lovely moon climbs up the sky 
As one who walks in dreams ; 



56 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

A tower of marble in lier light, 
A wall of black, a wall of white, 
The stately vessel seems. 

Low down upon the sandy coast 

The lights begin to burn ; 
And now, uplifted high in air. 
They Idndle with a fiercer glare. 
And now drop far astern. 

The dawn appears, the land is gone. 

The sea is all around ; 
Then on each hand low hills of sand 
Emerge and form another land ; 

She steereth through the Sound. 

Through Kattegat and Skager-rack 

She flitteth like a ghost ; 
By day and night, by night and day, 
She bounds, she flies upon her way 
Along the English coast. 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 57 

Cape Finisterre is drawing near. 

Cape Pinisterre is past ; 
Into the open ocean stream 
She floats, the vision of a dream 

Too beautiful to last. 

Suns rise and set, and rise, and yet 

There is no land in sight ; 
The liquid planets overhead 
Burn brighter now the moon is dead, 

And longer stays the night. 



58 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



rv. 

And now along the horizon's edge 

Mountains of cloud uprose, 
Black as with forests underneath, 
Above their sharp and jagged teeth 

Were white as drifted snows. 

Unseen behind them sank the sun, 

But flushed each snowy peak 
A little while with rosy light 
That faded slowly from the sight 

As blushes from the cheek. 

Black grew the sky, — all black, all black ; 

The clouds were everywhere ; 
There was a feeling of suspense 
In nature, a mysterious sense 

Of terror in the air. 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 59 

And all on board the Valdemar 

Was still as still could be ; 
Save when the dismal ship-bell tolled. 
As ever and anon she rolled, 

And lurched into the sea. 

The captain up and down the deck 

Went striding to and fro ; 
Now watched the compass at the wheel, 
Now lifted up his hand to feel 

Which way the wind might blow. 

And now he looked up at the sails, 

And now upon the deep ; 
In every fibre of his frame 
He felt the storm before it came. 

He had no thought of sleep. 

Eight bells ! and suddenly abaft, 
With a great rush of rain. 



60 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Making the ocean white with spume. 
In darkness like the day of doom, 
On came the hurricane. 

The lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, 

And rent the sky in two ; 
A jagged flame, a single jet 
Of white fire, like a bayonet, 

That pierced the eyeballs through. 

Then all around was dark again, 

And blacker than before ; 
But in that single flash of light 
He had beheld a fearful sight. 

And thought of the oath he swore. 

For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead, 

The ghostly Carmilhan ! 
Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare. 
And on her bowsprit, poised in air. 

Sat the Klaboterman. 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. €1 

Her crew of gliosts was all on deck 

Or clambering up the shrouds ; 
The boatswain's whistle, the captain's hail, 
Were like the piping of the gale, 
And thunder in the clouds. 

And close behind the Carmilhan 

There rose up from the sea, 
As from a foundered ship of stone. 
Three bare and splintered masts alone : 

They were the Chimneys Three ! 

And onward dashed the Valdemar 

And leaped into the dark ; 
A denser mist, a colder blast, 
A little shudder, and she had passed 

Eight through the Phantom Bark. 

She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk. 
But cleft it unaware ; 



62 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



As when, careering to her nest. 
The sea-gull severs with her breast 
The unresisting air. 



Again the lightning flashed ; again 

They saw the Carmilhan, 
Whole as before in hull and spar ; 
But now on board of the Valdemar 

Stood the Klaboterman. 

And they all knew their doom was sealed ; 

They knew that death was near ; 
Some prayed who never prayed before. 
And some they wept, and some they swore, 

And some were mute with fear. 

Then suddenly there came a shock, 

And louder than wind or sea 
A cry burst from the crew on deck. 
As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless wreck, 

Upon the Chimneys Three. 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 63 

The storm and night were passed/ the light 

To streak the east began ; 
The cabin-boy, picked up at sea, 
Survived the wreck, and only he. 

To tell of the Carmilhan. 



INTERLUDE. - 

When the long murmur of applause 
That greeted the Musician's lay- 
Had slowly buzzed itself away, 
And the long talk of Spectre Ships 
That followed died upon their lips 
And came unto a natural pause, 
" These tales you tell are one and all 
Of the Old World/' the Poet said, 
" Flowers gathered from a crumbling wall, 
Dead leaves that rustle as they fall; 
Let me present you in their stead 
Something of our New England earth, 
A tale which, though of no great worth. 
Has still this merit, that it yields 



INTER1.UDE. 65 

A certain freshness of the fields, 

A sweetness as of home-made bread." 



The student answered : " Be discreet ; 
For if the flour be fresh and sound, 
And if the bread be light and sweet. 
Who careth in what mill 't was ground. 
Or of what oven felt the heat. 
Unless, as old Cervantes said. 
You are looking after better bread 
Than any that is made of wheat ? 
You know that people nowadays 
To what is old give little praise ; 
All must be new in prose and verse : 
They want hot bread, or something worse. 
Fresh every morning, and haK baked ; 
The wholesome bread of yesterday. 
Too stale for them, is thrown away, 
Nor is their thirst with water slaked." 

5 



66 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

As oft we see the sky in May 
Threaten to rain, and yet not rain, 
The Poet's face, before so gay, 
Was clouded with a look of pain, 
But suddenly brightened up again ; 
And without further let or stay 
He told his tale of yesterday. 



THE POET'S TALE. 



LADY WENTWORTH. 



One hundred years ago^ and something more, 
In Queen Street, Portsmouth, at her tavern door, 
Neat as a pin, and blooming as a rose, 
Stood Mistress Stavers in her furbelows. 
Just as her cuckoo-clock was striking nine. 
Above her head, resplendent on the sign. 
The portrait of the Earl of Halifax, 
In scarlet coat and periwig of flax. 
Surveyed at leisure all her varied charms. 
Her cap, her bodice, her white folded arms. 
And half resolved, though he was past his prime. 
And rather damaged by the lapse of time. 
To fall down at her feet, and to declare 
The passion that had driven him to despair. 



68 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

For from his lofty station he had seen 
Stayers, her husband, dressed in bottle-green, 
Drive his new Hying Stage-coach, four in hand; 
Down the long lane, and out into the land. 
And knew that he was far upon the way 
To Ipswich and to Boston on the Bay ! 

Just then the meditations of the Earl 
Were interrupted by a little girl, 
Barefooted, ragged, with neglected hair, 
Eyes full of laughter, neck and shoulders bare, 
A thin slip of a girl, like a new moon. 
Sure to be rounded into beauty soon, 
A creature men would worship and adore. 
Though now in mean habiliments she bore 
A pail of water, dripping, through the street. 
And bathing, as she went, her naked feet. 

It was a pretty picture, full of grace, — 
The slender form, the delicate, thin face ; 



LADY WENTWORTH. 69 

The swaying motion, as she hurried by ; 
The shining feet, the laughter in her eye, 
That o'er her face in ripples gleamed and glanced, 
As in her pail the shifting sunbeam danced : 
And with uncommon feelings of delight 
The Earl of Halifax beheld the sight. 
Not so Dame Stavers, for he heard her say 
These words, or thought he did, as plain as day : 
" Martha Hilton ! Eie ! how dare you go 
About the town half dressed, and looking so ! " 
At which the gypsy laughed, and straight replied : 
" No matter how I look ; I yet shall ride 
In my own chariot, ma'am." And on the child 
The Earl of Halifax benignly smiled. 
As with her heavy burden she passed on. 
Looked back, then turned the corner, and was 
gone. 

What next, upon that memorable day, 
Arrested his attention was a gay 



70 TALES OF A T7ATSIDE INN. 

And brilliant equipage, that flashed and spun, 
The silver harness glittering in the sun, 
Outriders ^vith red jackets, lithe and lank. 
Pounding the saddles as they rose and sank, 
"While all alone within the chariot sat 
A portly person with three-cornered hat, 
A crimson velvet coat, head high in air, 
Gold-headed cane, and nicely powdered hair, 
And diamond buckles sparkling at his knees. 
Dignified, stately, florid, much at ease. 
Onward the pageant swept, and as it passed, 
Fair ]\Iistress Stavers courtesied low and fast ; 
Tor this was Governor Went worth, chiding down 
To Little Harbor, just beyond the town, 
Where his Great House stood looking out to sea, 
A goodly place, where it was good to be. 

It was a pleasant mansion, an abode 

Kear and yet hidden from the great highroad. 

Sequestered among trees, a noble pile, 



LADY WENT WORTH. 71 

Baronial and colonial in its style ; 
Gables and dormer-windows everywhere. 
And stacks of chimneys rising high in air, — 
Pandsean pipes, on which all winds that blew 
Made monrnful music the whole winter through. 
Within, unwonted splendors met the eye, 
Panels, and floors of oak, and tapestry ; 
Carved chimney-pieces, where on brazen dogs 
Eevelled and roared the Christmas fires of logs 5 
Doors opening into darkness unawares. 
Mysterious passages, and flights of stairs ; 
And on the walls, in heavy gilded frames. 
The ancestral "Wentworths with Old-Scripture 
names. 

Such was the mansion where the great man 

dwelt, 
A widower and childless ; and he felt 
The loneliness, the uncongenial gloom. 
That like a presence haunted every room ; 



72 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

For tliougli not given to weakness, he could feel 
The pain of wounds, that ache because they heal. 

The years came and the years went, — seven in 

all, 
And passed in cloud and sunshine o'er the Hall ; 
The dawns their splendor through its chambers 

shed. 
The sunsets flushed its western windows red ; 
The snow was on its roofs, the wind, the rain ; 
Its woodlands were in leaf and bare again ; 
Moons waxed and waned, the lilacs bloomed and 

died, 
In the broad river ebbed and flowed the tide, 
Ships went to sea, and ships came home from sea. 
And the slow years sailed by and ceased to be. 

And aU these years had Martha Hilton served 
In the Great House, not wholly unobserved : 
By day, by night, the silver crescent grew. 



LADY WENTWORTH. 73 

Though hidden hy clouds, her light still shining 

through ; 
A maid of all work, whether coarse or fine, 
A servant who made service seem divine ! 
Through her each room was fair to look upon ; 
The mirrors glistened, and the brasses shone. 
The very knocker on the outer door. 
If she but passed, was brighter than before. 

And now the ceaseless turning of the mill 
Of Time, that never for an hour stands still, 
Ground out the Governor's sixtieth birthday. 
And powdered his brown hair with silver-gray. 
The robin, the forerunner of the spring. 
The bluebird with his jocund carolling. 
The restless swallows building in the eaves. 
The golden buttercups, the grass, the leaves, 
The lilacs tossing in the winds of May, 
All welcomed this majestic holiday ! 
He gave a splendid banquet, served on plate. 



74 TALES OF A WAYSIDE IXN. 

Such as became the Governor of the State, 
"Who represented England and the King, 
And was macmificent in evervthin^. 
He had invited all his friends and peers, — 
The Pepperels, the Langdons, and the Lears, 
The SparhaTrks, the Penhallows, and the rest ; 
For why repeat the name of every guest ? 
But I must mention one, in bands and gown. 
The rector there, the Eeverend Arthur Brown 
Of the Established Church ; with smiling face 
He sat beside the Governor and said grace ; 
And then the feast went on, as others do, 
But ended as none other; or but few. 

"When they had drunk the King, with many a 

cheer. 
The Governor whispered in a servant's ear, 
Who disappeared, and presently there stood 
Within the room, in perfect womanhood, 
A maiden, modest and yet self-possessed, 



LADY WENTWORTH. 75 

Youthful and beautiful, and simply dressed. 
Can this be Martha Hilton ? It must be ! 
Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she ! 
Dowered with the beauty of her twenty years, 
How ladylik'e, how queenlike she appears ; 
The pale, thin crescent of the days gone by 
Is Dian now in all her majesty ! 
Yet scarce a guest perceived that she was there, 
Until the Governor, rising from his chair. 
Played slightly with his ruffles, then looked down, 
And said unto the Eeverend Arthur Brown : 
" This is my birthday ; it shall likewise be 
My wedding-day ; and you shall marry me ! " 

The listening guests were greatly mystified, 
None more so than the rector, who replied : 
" Marry you ? Yes, that were a pleasant task. 
Your Excellency ; but to whom ? I ask." 
The Governor answered : " To this lady here " ; 
And beckoned Martha Hilton to draw near. 



76 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

She came and stood, all blushes, at his side. 
The rector paused. The impatient Governor 

cried : 
" This is the lady ; do you hesitate ? 
Then I command you as Chief Magistrate." 
The rector read the service loud and clear : 
" Dearly beloved, we are gathered here," 
And so on to the end. At his command 
On the fourth finger of her fair left hand 
The Governor placed the ring ; and that was all : 
Martha was Lady Wentworth of the Hall ! 



INTERLUDE. 

Well pleased the audience heard the tale. 

The Theologian said : ^^ Indeed, 

To praise you there is little need; 

One almost hears the farmer's flail 

Thresh out your wheat, nor does there fail 

A certain freshness, as you said, 

And sweetness as of home-made bread. 

But not less sweet and not less fresh 

Are many legends that I know. 

Writ by the monks of long-ago. 

Who loved to mortify the flesh. 

So that the soul might purer grow. 

And rise to a diviner state ; 

And one of these — perhaps of all 

Most beautiful — I now recall. 



78 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And with permission will narrate ; 

Hoping thereby to make amends 

For that grim tragedy of mine, 

As strong and black as Spanish wine, 

I told last night, and wish almost 

It had remained untold, my friends ; 

For Torquemada's awful ghost 

Came to me in the dreams I dreamed. 

And in the darkness glared and gleamed 

Like a great lighthouse on the coast." 

The Student laugliing said : '' Far more 

Like to some dismal fire of bale 

Flaring portentous on a hill ; 

Or torches lighted on a shore 

By wreckers in a midnight gale. 

No matter ; be it as you will, 

Only go forward with your tale." 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. 

THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL. 

'' Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! " 
That is what the Vision said. 

In his chamber all alone. 
Kneeling on the floor of stone. 
Prayed the Monk in deep contrition 
For his sins of indecision, 
Prayed for greater self-denial 
In temptation and in trial ; 
It was noonday by the dial. 
And the Monk was all alone. 

Suddenly, as if it lightened. 

An unwonted splendor brightened 



80 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

All within Lim and without him 
In that narrow cell of stone ; 
And he saw the Blessed Vision 
Of our Lord, with light Elysian 
Like a vesture wrapped about him, 
Like a garment round him thrown. 

Not as crucified and slain, 
Not in agonies of pain, 
Not with bleeding hands and feet, 
Did the Monk his Master see ; 
But as in the village street, 
In the house or harvest-field. 
Halt and lame and blind he healed, 
When he walked in Galilee. 



In an attitude imploring. 
Hands upon his bosom crossed, 
Wondering, worshipping, adoring, 
Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. 



THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL. 81 

Lord, lie thought, in heaven that reignest, 
Who am I, that thus thou deignest 
To reveal thyself to me ? 
Who am I, that from the centre 
Of thy glory thou shouldst enter 
This poor cell, my guest to be ? 

Then amid his exaltation. 
Loud the convent bell appalling. 
From its belfry calling, calling, 
Eang through court and corridor 
With persistent iteration 
He had never heard before. 
It was now the appointed hour 
When alike in shine or shower. 
Winter's cold or summer's heat. 
To the convent portals came 
All the blind and halt and lame. 
All the beggars of the street, 
For their daily dole of food 



82 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Dealt them by the brotherhood ; 
And their ahnoner was he 
Who upon his bended knee, 
Eapt in silent ecstasy 
Of divinest self-surrender, 
Saw the Vision and the Splendor. 



Deep distress and hesitation 
Mingled with his adoration ; 
Should he go, or should he stay ? 
Should he leave the poor to wait 
Hungry at the convent gate, 
Till the Vision passed away ? 
Should he slight his radiant guest, 
Slight this visitant celestial, 
For a crowd of ragged, bestial 
Beggars at the convent gate ? 
Would the Vision there remain ? 
Would the Vision come again ? 



THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL. 83 

Then a voice within his breast 
Whispered, audible and clear 
As if to the outward ear : 
'' Do thy duty ; that is best ; 
Leave unto thy Lord the rest ! " 

Straightway to his feet he started. 
And with longing look intent 
On the Blessed Vision bent, 
Slowly from his cell departed. 
Slowly on his errand went. 

At the gate the poor were waiting. 
Looking through the iron grating. 
With that terror in the eye 
That is only seen in those 
Who amid their wants and woes 
Hear the sound of doors that close. 
And of feet that pass them by ; 
Grown familiar with disfavor, 



84 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Grown familiar with the savor 
Of the bread by which men die ! 
But to-day, they knew not why. 
Like the gate of Paradise 
Seemed the convent gate to rise. 
Like a sacrament divine 
Seemed to them the bread and wine. 
In his heart the Monk was praying, 
Thinking of the homeless poor, 
What they suffer and endure ; 
What we see not, what we see ; 
And the inward voice was saying: 
" Whatsoever thing thou doest 
To the least of mine and lowest. 
That thou doest unto me ! '* 

Unto me ! but had the Vision 
Come to him in beggar's clothing, 
Come a mendicant imploring, 
Would he then have knelt adoring. 



THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL. 85 

Or have listened with derision. 

And have turned away with loathing ? 

Thus his conscience put the question. 
Full of troublesome suggestion. 
As at length, with hurried pace. 
Towards his cell he turned his face, 
And beheld the convent bright 
With a supernatural light. 
Like a luminous cloud expanding 
Over floor and wall and ceiling. 

But he paused with awe-struck feeling 
At the threshold of his door, 
Tor the Vision still was standing 
As he left it there before, 
"When the convent bell appalling, 
From its belfry calling, calling. 
Summoned him to feed the poor. 
Through the long hour intervening 



86 TALES OF A WAYSIDE EN'N. 

It had waited his return, 
And he felt his bosom burn, 

Comprehending all the meaning, 

When the Blessed Vision said, 

" Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! " 



INTERLUDE. 

All praised the Legend more or less ; 

Some liked the moral, some the verse ; 

Some thought it better, and some worse 

Than other legends of the past ; 

Until, with ill-concealed distress 

At all their cavilling, at last 

The Theologian gravely said : 

" The Spanish proverb, then, is right ; 

Consult your friends on what you do. 

And one will say that it is white. 

And others say that it is red." 

And '' Amen ! " quoth the Spanish Jew. 

^' Six stories told ! We must have seven, 
A cluster like the Pleiades, 



88 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And lo ! it happens, as with these. 
That one is missing from our heaven. 
Where is the Landlord ? Bring him here ; 
Let the Lost Pleiad reappear." 

Thus the Sicilian cried, and went 
Forthwith to seek his missing star. 
But did not find him in the bar, 
A place that landlords most frequent. 
Nor yet beside the kitchen fire. 
Nor up the stairs, nor in the hall ; 
It was in vain to ask or call. 
There were no tidings of the Squire. 

So he came back with downcast head. 
Exclaiming : '' Well, our bashful host 
Hath surely given up the ghost. 
Another proverb says the dead 
Can tell no tales ; and that is true. 
It follows, then, that one of you 



INTERLUDE. 89 

Must tell a story in Ms stead. 
You must/' he to the Student said, 
^' AVho know so many of the best. 
And tell them better than the rest." 

Straight, by these flattering words beguiled. 
The Student, happy as a child 
"When he is called a little man. 
Assumed the double task imposed. 
And without more ado unclosed 
His smiling lips, and thus began. 



THE STUDENT'S SECOND TALE. 

THE BARON OP ST. CASTINE. 

Baron Castine of St. Castine 

Has left his chateau in the Pyrenees, 

And sailed across the western seas. 

When he went away from his fair demesne 

The birds were building, the woods were green ; 

And now the winds of winter blow 

Eound the turrets of the old chateau. 

The birds are silent and unseen. 

The leaves lie dead in the ravine. 

And the Pyrenees are white with snow. 

His father, lonely, old, and gray. 
Sits by the fireside day by day, 
Thinkino^ ever one thouo'ht of care ; 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 91 

Through the southern windows, narrow and tall, 

The sun shines into the ancient hall, 

And makes a glory round his hair. 

The house-dog, stretched beneath his chair, 

Groans in his sleep as if in pain. 

Then wakes, and yawns, and sleeps again. 

So silent is it everywhere, — 

So silent you can hear the mouse 

Eun and rummage along the beams 

Behind the wainscot of the wall ; 

And the old man rouses from his dreams. 

And wanders restless through the house. 

As if he heard strange voices call. 

His footsteps echo along the floor 
Of a distant passage, and pause awhile ; 
He is standing by an open door 
Looking long, with a sad, sweet smile. 
Into the room of his absent son. 
There is the bed on which he lay, 



92 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

There are the pictures bright and gay, 
Horses and hounds and sun-lit seas ; 
There are his powder-flask and gun, 
And his hunting-knives in shape of a fan ; 
The chair by the window where he sat, 
With the clouded tiger-skin for a mat, 
Looking out on the Pyrenees, 
Looking out on Mount Marbor^ 
And the Seven Valleys of Lavedan. 
Ah me ! he turns away and sighs ; 
There is a mist before his eyes. 

At night, whatever the weather be, 
Wind or rain or starry heaven. 
Just as the clock is striking seven. 
Those who look from the windows see 
The village Curate, with lantern and maid. 
Come through the gateway from the park 
And cross the court-yard damp and dark, — 
A ring of light in a ring of shade. 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 93 

And now at the old man's side lie stands, 
His voice is cheery, his heart expands. 
He gossips pleasantly, by the blaze 
Of the fire of fagots, about old days. 
And Cardinal Mazarin and the Fronde, 
And the Cardinal's nieces fair and fond. 
And what they did, and what they said. 
When they heard his Eminence was dead. 

And after a pause the old man says. 

His mind still coming back again 

To the one sad thought that haunts his brain, 

" Are there any tidings from over sea ? 

Ah, why has that wild boy gone from me ? " 

And the Curate answers, looking down. 

Harmless and docile as a lamb, 

" Young blood ! young blood ! It must so be ! " 

And draws from the pocket of his gown 

A handkerchief like an oriflamb, 

And wipes his spectacles, and they play 



94: TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Their little game of lansquenet 

In silence for an hour or so, 

Till the clock at nine strikes loud and clear 

From the village lying asleep below, 

And across the court-yard, into the dark 

Of the winding pathway in the park, 

Curate and lantern disappear. 

And darkness reigns in the old chateau. 

The ship has come hack from over sea, 
She has been signalled from below. 
And into the harbor of Bordeaux 
She sails with her gallant company. 
But among them is nowhere seen 
The brave young Baron of St. Castine ; 
He hath tarried behind, I ween. 
In the beautiful land of Acadie ! 

And the father paces to and fro 
Through the chambers of the old chateau. 



THE BARON OP ST. CASTINE. 95 

Waiting, waiting to hear the hum 

Of wheels on the road that runs below, 

Of servants hurrying here and there, 

The voice in the court-yard, the step on the 

stair. 
Waiting for some one who doth not come ! 
But letters there are, which the old man reads 
To the Curate, when he comes at night. 
Word by word, as an acolyte 
Eepeats his prayers and tells his beads ; 
Letters full of the rolling sea, 
Full of a young man's joy to be 
Abroad in the world, alone and free ; 
Full of adventures and wonderful scenes 
Of hunting the deer through forests vast 
In the royal grant of Pierre du Gast ; 
Of nights in the tents of the Tarratines ; 
Of Madocawando the Indian chief. 
And his daughters, glorious as queens. 
And beautiful beyond belief ; 



'96 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And so soft the tones of their native tongue, 
The words are not spoken, they are sung ! 

And the Curate listens, and smiling says : 

" Ah yes, dear friend ! in our young days 

We should have liked to hunt the deer 

All day amid those forest scenes. 

And to sleep in the tents of the Tarratines ; 

But now it is better sitting here 

Within four walls, and without the fear 

Of losing our hearts to Indian queens ; 

For man is fire and woman is tow, 

And the Somebody comes and begins to blow/* 

Then a gleam of distrust and vague surmise 

Shines in the father s gentle eyes, 

As firelight on a window-pane 

Glimmers and vanishes again ; 

But naught he answers ; he only sighs. 

And for a moment bows his head ; 

Then, as their custom is, they play 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 97 

Their little game of lansquenet, 
And another day is with the dead. 

Another day, and many a day 

And many a week and month depart. 

When a fatal letter wings its w^ay 

Across the sea, like a bird of prey. 

And strikes and tears the old man's heart. 

Lo ! the young Baron of St. Castine, 

Swift as the wind is, and as wild. 

Has married a dusky Tarratine, 

Has married Madocawando's child ! 

The letter drops from the father's hand ; 
Though the sinews of his heart are wrung, 
He utters no cry, he breathes no prayer, 
No malediction falls from his tongue ; 
But his stately figure, erect and grand. 
Bends and sinks like a column of sand 
In the whirlwind of his great despair. 
7 



98 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

Dying, yes, dying ! His latest breath 
Of parley at the door of death 
Is a blessing on his wayward son. 
Lower and lower on his breast 
Sinks his gray head ; he is at rest ; 
No longer he waits for any one. 

For many a year the old chateau 
Lies tenantless and desolate ; 
Eank grasses in the court-yard grow, 
About its gables caws the crow ; 
Only the porter at the gate 
Is left to guard it, and to wait 
The coming of the rightful heir ; 
No other life or sound is there ; 
No more the Curate comes at night. 
No more is seen the unsteady light. 
Threading the alleys of the park ; 
The windows of the hall are dark. 
The chambers dreary, cold, and bare ! 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 99 

At length, at last, when the winter is past, 
And birds are building, and woods are green, 
"With flying skirts is the Curate seen 
Speeding along the woodland way. 
Humming gayly, '' No day is so long 
But it comes at last to vesper-song/' 
He stops at the porter's lodge to say 
That at last the Baron of St. Castine 
Is coming home with his Indian queen. 
Is coming without a week's delay ; 
And all the house must be swept and clean. 
And all things set in good array ! 
And the solemn porter shakes his head ; 
And the answer he makes is : " Lackaday ! 
We will see, as the blind man said ! " 

Alert since first the day began, 
The cock upon the village church 
Looks northward from his airy perch. 
As if beyond the ken of man 



100 TALES OF A WAYSIDE ESX. 

To see the ships come sailing on, 
And pass the Isle of Oleron, 
And pass the Tower of Cordouan. 

In the church below is cold in clay 

The heart that would have leaped for joy — 

tender heart of truth and trust ! — 

To see the coming of that day ; 

In the church below the lips are dust. 

Dust are the hands, and dust the feet. 

That would have been so swift to meet 

The coming of that wayward boy. 

At night the front of the old chateau 

Is a blaze of light above and below ; 

There's a sound of wheels and hoofs in the 

street, 
A cracking of whips, and scamper of feet. 
Bells are rincrinor and horns are blown, 
And the Baron hath come ac^ain to his own. 



THE BAKON OF ST. CASTINE. 101 

The Curate is waiting in the hall. 

Most eager and alive of all 

To welcome the Baron and Baroness ; 

But his mind is full of vague distress, 

For he hath read in Jesuit books 

Of those children of the wilderness. 

And now, good, simple man ! he looks 

To see a painted savage stride 

Into the room, with shoulders bare. 

And eagle feathers in her hair. 

And around her a robe of panther's hide. 

Instead, he beholds with secret shame 
A form of beauty undefined, 
A loveliness without a name. 
Not of degree, but more of kind ; 
Nor bold nor shy, nor short nor tall. 
But a new mingling of them all. 
Yes, beautiful beyond belief. 
Transfigured and transfused, he sees 



102 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

The lady of the Pyrenees, 

The daughter of the Indian chief. 

Beneath the shadow of her hair 

The gold-bronze color of the skin 

Seems lighted by a fire within, 

As when a burst of sunlight shines 

Beneath a sombre grove of pines, — 

A dusky splendor in the air. 

The two small hands, that now are pressed 

In his, seem made to be caressed, 

They lie so warm and soft and still. 

Like birds half hidden in a nest, 

Trustful, and innocent of iU. 

And ah ! he cannot believe his ears 

When her melodious voice he hears 

Speaking his native Gascon tongue ; 

The words she utters seem to be 

Part of some poem of Goudouli, 

They are not spoken, they are sung ! 

And the Baron smiles, and says, '^ You see, 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 103 

I told you but the simple truth ; 

Ah, you may trust the eyes of youth ! " 

Down in the village day by day 

The people gossip in their way. 

And stare to see the Baroness pass 

On Sunday morning to early Mass ; 

And when she kneeleth down to pray. 

They wonder, and whisper together, and say, 

" Surely this is no heathen lass ! " 

And in course of time they learn to bless 

The Baron and the Baroness. 

And in course of time the Curate learns 
A secret so dreadful, that by turns 
He is ice and fire, he freezes and burns. 
The Baron at confession hath said. 
That though this woman be his wife, 
He hath wed her as the Indians wed. 
He hath bought her for a gun and a knife ! 



104 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And the Curate replies : " profligate, 

Prodigal Son ! return once more 

To the open arms and the open door 

Of the Church, or ever it be too late. 

Thank God, thy father did not live 

To see what he could not forgive ; 

On thee, so reckless and perverse. 

He left his blessing, not his curse. 

But the nearer the dawn the darker the night, 

And by going wrong all things come right ; 

Things have been mended that were worse. 

And the worse, the nearer they are to mend. 

For the sake of the living and the dead, 

Thou shalt be wed as Christians wed, 

And all things come to a happy end." 

sun, that foUowest the night. 
In yon blue sky, serene and pure. 
And pourest thine impartial light 
Alike on mountain and on moor. 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 105 

Pause for a moment in thy course, 
And bless the bridegroom and the bride ! 
Gave, that from thy hidden source 
In yon mysterious mountain-side 
Pursuest thy wandering way alone, 
And leaping down its steps of stone, 
Along the meadow-lands demure 
Stealest away to the Adour, 
Pause for a moment in thy course 
To bless the bridegroom and the bride ! 

The choir is singing the matin song, 
The doors of the church are opened wide, 
The people crowd, and press, and throng 
To see the bridegroom and the bride. 
They enter and pass along the nave ; 
They stand upon the father's grave ; 
The bells are ringing soft and slow ; 
The living above and the dead below 
Give their blessing on one and twain ; 



106 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

The warm wind blows from the hills of Spain, 
The birds are building, the leaves are green. 
And Baron Castine of St. Castine 
Hath come at last to his own again. 



FINALE. 

^' Nunc plaitdite ! " the Student cried, 

When lie had finished ; '' now applaud. 

As Eoman actors used to say 

At the conclusion of a play " ; 

And rose, and spread his hands abroad, 

And smiling bowed from side to side, 

As one who bears the palm away. 

And generous was the applause and loud. 
But less for him than for the sun, 
That even as the tale was done 
Burst from its canopy of cloud, 
And lit the landscape with the blaze 
Of afternoon on autumn days, 



108 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And filled the room with light, and made 
The fire of logs a painted shade. 

A sudden wind from out the west 
Blew all its trumpets loud and shrill ; 
The windows rattled with the blast. 
The oak-trees shouted as 4t passed. 
And straight, as if by fear possessed. 
The cloud encampment on the hill 
Broke up, and fluttering flag and tent 
Vanished iMo the firmament, 
And down the valley fled amain 
The rear of the retreating rain. 

Only far up in the blue sky 
A mass of clouds, like drifted snow 
Suffused with a faint Alpine glow. 
Was heaped together, vast and high. 
On which a shattered rainbow hung. 
Not rising like the ruined arch 



FINALE. 109 • 

Of some aerial aqueduct. 
But like a roseate garland plucked 
Erom an Olympian god, and flung 
Aside in his triumphal march. 

Like prisoners from their dungeon gloom, 
Like birds escaping from a snare. 
Like school-boys at the hour of play. 
All left at once the pent-up room. 
And rushed into the open air; 
And no more tales were^^told that day. 






«l* 



BOOK SECOND 



JUDAS MACCABEUS 



JUDAS MACCABJEU3. 



ACT L 

The Citadel of Antiochus at Jerusalem. 

SCENE I. Antiochus; Jason. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Antioch, my Antioch, my city ! 
Queen of the East ! my solace, my delight ! 
The dowry of my sister Cleopatra 

When she was wed to Ptolemy, and now 
Won back and made more wonderful by me ! 

1 love thee, and I long to be once more 
Among the players and the dancing women 
Within thy gates, and bathe in the Orontes, 
Thy river and mine. Jason, my High-Priest, 
Por I have made thee so, and thou art mine. 
Hast thou seen Antioch the Beautiful ? 

8 



114- JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

Never, my Lord. 

A^nOCHUS. 

Then hast thou never seen 
The wonder of the worli This city of David 
Compared with Antioch is but a village. 

And its inhabitants compared with Greeks 
Are mannerless boors. 

jASOjr. 

They are barbarians. 
And mannerless. 

AsrnocHU3. 

They must be civilized. 
They must be made to have more gods than one ; 
And goddesses besides. 

JASOS. 

They shall have more. 

ASnOCHUS. 

They must have hippodromes, and games, and 
baths. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 115 

Stage-plays and festivals, and most of all 
The Dionysia. 

JASON. 

They shall have them all. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

By Heracles ! but I should like to see 

These Hebrews crowned with ivy, and arrayed 

In skins of fawns, with drums and flutes and 

thyrsi, 
Eevel and riot through the solemn streets 
Of their old town. Ha, ha ! It makes me merry 
Only to think of it ! — Thou dost not laugh. 

JASON. 

Yea, I laugh inwardly. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

The new Greek leaven 
Works slowly in this Israelitish dough ! 
Have I not sacked the Temple, and on the altar 



116 JUDAS MACOABiEUS. 

Set up the statue of Olympian Jove 
To HeUenize it ? 

JASON. 

Thou hast done all this. 

AXnOCHUS. 

As thou wast Joshua once and now art Jason, 
And from a Hebrew hast become a Greek, 
So shall this Hebrew nation be translated. 
Their very natures and their names be changed, 
And all be Hellenized. 

JASON. 

It shall be done. 

AXTIOCHUS. 

Their manners and their laws and way of li\'inp^ 
Shall all be Greek. They shall unlearn their 

language. 
And learn the lovely speech of Antioch. 
Where hast thou been to-day? Thou comest 

late. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 117 

JASON. 

Playing at discus with the other priests 
In the Gymnasium. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Thou hast done well. 
There 's nothing better for you lazy priests 
Than discus-playing with the common people. 
Now tell me, Jason, what these Hebrews call me 
When they converse together at their games. 

JASON. 

Antiochus Epiphanes, my Lord ; 
Antiochus the Illustrious. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

0, not that ; 
That is the public cry ; I mean the name 
They give me when they talk among themselves. 
And think that no one listens ; what is that ? 



118 JUDAS MACCABJEUS. 

JASON. 

Antiochus Epimanes, my Lord ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Antiochus the Mad ! Ay, that is it. 

And who hath said it ? Who hath set in motion 

That sorry jest ? 

JASON. 

The Seven Sons insane 
Of a weird woman, like themselves insane. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I like their conrage, but it shall not save them. 
They shall be made to eat the flesh of swine, 
Or they shall die. Where are they ? 

JASON. 

In the dungeons 
Beneath this tower. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

There let them stay and starve, 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 119 

Till I am ready to make Greeks of them. 
After my fashion. 

JASON. 

They shall stay and starve. — 
My Lord, the Ambassadors of Samaria 
Await thy pleasure. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Why not my displeasure ? 
Ambassadors are tedious. They are men 
Who work for their own ends, and not for mine ; 
There is no furtherance in them. Let them go 
To ApoUonius, my governor 
There in Samaria, and not trouble me. 
What do they want ? 

JASON. 

Only the royal sanction 
To give a name unto a nameless temple 
Upon Mount Gerizim. 



120 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Then bid them enter. 
This pleases me, and furthers my designs. 
The occasion is auspicious. Bid them enter. 



SCENE II. Antiochus ; Jason ; the Samaritan Ambas- 
sadors. 

antiochus. 
Approach. Come forward ; stand not at the door 
Wagging your long beards, but demean your- 
selves 
As doth become Ambassadors. What seek ye ? 

AN AMBASSADOR. 

An audience from the King. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Speak, and be brief. 
Waste not the time in useless rhetoric. 
Words are not things. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 121 

AJSIBASSADOR, reading. 

*' To King Antiochus, 
The God, Epiphanes ; a Memorial 
From the Sidonians, who live at Sichem." 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Sidonians ? 

AMBASSADOR. 

Ay, my Lord. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Go on, go on ! 
And do not tire thyself and me with bowing ! 

AMBASSADOR, reading, 
" We are a colony of Modes and Persians." 

ANTIOCHUS. 

No, ye are Jews from one of the Ten Tribes; 
Whether Sidonians or Samaritans 
Or Jews of Jewry, matters not to me ; 
Ye are all Israelites, ye are all Jews. 



122 JUDAS MACCABiEUS. 

When the Jews prosper, ye claim kindred with 

them ; 
When the Jews suffer, ye are Medes and Persians : 
I know that in the days of Alexander 
Ye claimed exemption from the annual tribute 
In the Sabbatic Year, because, ye said, 
Your fields had not been planted in that year. 

AMBASSADOR, reading, 

" Our fathers, upon certain frequent plagues, 
And following an ancient superstition. 
Were long accustomed to observe that day 
Which by the Israelites is called the Sabbath, 
And in a temple on Mount Gerizim 
Without a name, they offered sacrifice. 
Now we, who are Sidonians, beseech thee. 
Who art our benefactor and our savior. 
Not to confound us with these wicked Jews, 
But to give royal order and injunction 
To ApoUonius in Samaria, 



JUDAS MACCABJEUS. 123 

Thy governor, and likewise to Mcanor, 
Thy procurator, no more to molest us ; 
And let our nameless temple now be named 
The Temple of Jupiter Hellenius/' 

ANTIOCHUS. 

This shall be done. FuU well it pleaseth me 

Ye are not Jews, or are no longer Jews, 

But Greeks ; if not by birth, yet Greeks by 

custom. 
Your nameless temple shall receive the name 
Of Jupiter Hellenius. Ye may go ! 



SCENE III. Antiochus ; Jason. 

ANTIOCHU^ 

My task is easier than I dreamed. These people 
Meet me half-way. Jason, didst thou take note 
How these Samaritans of Sichem said 
They were not Jews ? that they were Medes and 
Persians, 



124 JUDAS MACCABJEUS. 

They were Sidonians, anything but Jews ? 
'T is of good augury. The rest will follow 
Till the whole land is Hellenized. 

JASON. 

My Lord, 
These are Samaritans. The tribe of Judah 
Is of a different temper, and the task 
Will be more difficult. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Dost thou gainsay me ? 

JASON. 

I know the stubborn nature of the Jew. 
Yesterday, Eleazer, an old man, 
Being fourscore years and ten, chose rather death 
By torture than to eat the flesh of swine. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

The life is in the blood, and the whole nation 
Shall bleed to death, or it shall change its faith ! 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 125 

JASON. 

Hundreds have fled already to the mountains 

Of Ephraim, where Judas Maccabseus 

Hath raised the standard of revolt against thee. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I will burn down their city, and will make it 
Waste as a wilderness. Its thoroughfares 
Shall be but furrows in a field of ashes. 
It shall be sown with salt as Sodom is ! 
This hundred and fifty-third Olympiad 
Shall have a broad and blood-red seal upon it, 
Stamped with the awful letters of my name, 
Antiochus the God, Epiphanes ! — 
Where are those Seven Sons ? 

JASON. 

My Lord, they wait 
Thy royal pleasure. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

They shall wait no longer ! 



126 JUDAS MACCABiEUS. 



ACT IL 

The Dungeons in the Citadel. 
SCENE I. The Mother of the Seven Sons alone^ listening. 

THE MOTHER. 

Be strong, my heart ! Break not till they are dead, 
All, all my Seven Sons ; then burst asunder, 
And let this tortured and tormented soul 
Leap and rush out like water through the shards 
Of earthen vessels broken at a welL 

my dear children, mine in life and death, 

1 know not how ye came into my womb ; 

I neither gave you breath, nor gave you life. 
And neither was it I that formed the members 
Of every one of you. But the Creator, 
Who made the world, and made the heavens 
above us. 



JUDAS MACCABJEUS. 127 

Who formed the generation of mankind. 
And found out the beginning of all things, 
He gave you breath and life, and will again 
Of his own mercy, as ye now regard 
Not your own selves, but his eternal law. 
I do not murmur, nay, I thank thee, God, 
That I and mine have not been deemed un- 
worthy 
To suffer for thy sake, and for thy law, 
And for the many sins of Israel*. 
Hark ! I can hear within the sound of scourges ! 
I feel them more than ye do, my sons ! 
But cannot come to you. I, who was wont 
To wake at night at the least cry ye made. 
To whom ye ran at every slightest hurt, — 
I cannot take you now into my lap 
And soothe your pain, but God will take you 

all 
Into his pitying arms, and comfort you, 
And give you rest. 



128 JUDAS MACCABJEUS. 

A VOICE, within. 

What "wouldst thou ask of us ? 
Eeady are we to die, but we will never 
Transgress the law and customs of our fathers. 

THE MOTHER. 

It is the voice of my first-born ! brave 
And noble boy ! Thou hast the privilege 
Of dying first, as thou wast born the first. 

THE SAME VOICE, witMu, 

God looketh on us, and hath comfort in us ; 
As Moses in his song of old declared. 
He in his servants shall be comforted. 

THE MOTHER. 

I knew thou wouldst not fail ! — He speaks no 

more. 
He is beyond all pain ! 

ANTiocHus, within. 

If thou eat not 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 129 

Thou slialt be tortured throughout all the mem- 
bers 
Of thy whole body. Wilt thou eat then ? 

SECOND VOICE, wUMn. 

No. 

THE MOTHER. 

It is Adaiah's voice. I tremble for him. 
I know his nature, devious as the wind, 
And swift to change, gentle and yielding always. 
Be steadfast, my son! 

THE SAME VOICE, witMn. 

Thou, like a fury, 
Takest us from this present life, but God, 
Who rules the world, shall raise us up again 
Into life everlasting. 

THE MOTHER. 

God, I thank thee 
That thou hast breathed into that timid heart 
Courage to die for thee. my Adaiah, 

9 



130 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

Witness of God ! if thou for whom I feared 
Canst thus encounter death, I need not fear ; 
The others will not shrink. 

THIRD VOICE, within. 

Behold these hands 
Held out to thee, King Antiochus, 
ISTot to implore thy mercy, but to show 
That I despise them. He who gave them to me 
Will give them back again. 

THE MOTHER. 

Avilan, 
It is thy voice. For the last time I hear it ; 
For the last time on earth, but not the last. 
To death it bids defiance and to torture. 
It sounds to me as from another world, 
And makes the petty miseries of this 
Seem unto me as naught, and less than naught. 
Farewell, my Avilan ; nay, I should say 
Welcome, my Avilan ; for I am dead 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 131 

Before thee. I am waiting for the others. 
Why do they linger ? 

FOURTH VOICE. wUMn. 

It is good, King, 
Being put to death by men, to look for hope 
From God, to be raised up again by him. 
But thou — no resurrection shalt thou have 
To life hereafter. 

THE MOTHER. 

Four ! already four ! 
Three are still living ; nay, they all are living, 
Half here, half there. Make haste, Antiochus, 
To reunite us ; for the sword that cleaves 
These miserable bodies makes a door 
Through which our souls, impatient of release, 
Eush to each other's arms. 

FIFTH VOICE, within. 

Thou hast the power ; 
Thou doest what thou wilt. Abide awhile. 



132 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

And tliou shalt see the power of God, and how- 
He will torment thee and thy seed. ^ 

THE MOTHER. 

hasten ; 
Wliy dost thou pause ? Thou who hast slain 

already 
So many Hebrew women, and hast hung 
Their murdered infants round their necks, slay me, 
Tor I too am a woman, and these boys 
Are mine. Make haste to slay us all, 
And hang my lifeless babes about my neck. 

SIXTH VOICE, within. 
Think not, Antiochus, that takest in hand 
To strive against the God of Israel, 
Thou shalt escape unpunished, for his wrath 
Shall overtake thee and thy bloody house. 

THE MOTHER. 

One more, my Sirion, and then all is ended. 
Having put all to bed, then in my turn 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 133 

I will lie down and sleep as sound as they. 
My Sirion, my youngest, best beloved ! 
And those bright golden locks, that I so oft 
Have curled about these fingers, even now 
Are foul with blood and dust, like a lamb's fleece, 
Slain in the shambles. — Not a sound I hear. 
This silence is more terrible to me 
Than any sound, than any cry of pain, 
That might escape the lips of one who dies. 
Doth his heart fail him ? Doth he fall away 
In the last hour from God ? Sirion, Sirion, 
Art thou afraid ? I do not hear thy voice. 
Die as thy brothers died. Thou must not live ! 



SCENE II. The Mother ; Antiochijs ; Sirion. 

THE mother. 
Are they all dead ? 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Of all thy Seven Sons 



134 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

One only lives. Behold them where they lie ; 
How dost thou like this picture ? 

THE MOTHER. 

God in heaven ! 
Can a man do such deeds, and yet not die 
By the recoil of his own wickedness ? 
Ye murdered, bleeding, mutilated bodies 
That were my children once, and still are mine, 
I cannot watch o'er you as Eispah watched 
In sackcloth o'er the seven sons of Saul, 
Till water drop upon you out of heaven 
And wash this blood away ! I cannot mourn 
As she, the daughter of Aiah, mourned the dead. 
From the beginning of the barley-harvest 
Until the autumn rains, and suffered not 
The birds of air to rest on them by day. 
Nor the wild beasts by night. For ye have died 
A better death, a death so full of life 
That I ought rather to rejoice than mourn. — 
Wherefore art thou not dead, Sirion ? 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 135 

AVherefore art thou the only living thing 
Among thy brothers dead ? Art thou afraid ? 

ANTIOCHUS. 

woman, I have spared him for thy sake, 
For he is fair to look upon and comely ; 
And I have sworn to him by all the gods 
That I would crown his life with joy and honor, 
Heap treasures on him, luxuries, delights. 
Make him my friend and keeper of my secrets. 
If he would turn from your Mosaic Law 
And be as we are ; but he w^ill not listen. 

THE MOTHER. 

My noble Sirion ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Therefore I beseech thee, 
Wlio art his mother, thou wouldst speak with 

him. 
And wouldst persuade him. I am sick of blood. 



136 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

THE MOTHER. 

Yea, I will speak with him and will persuade 

him. 
Sirion, my son ! have pity on me. 
On me that bare thee, and that gave thee suck, 
And fed and nourished thee, and brought thee up 
With the dear trouble of a mother's care 
Unto this age. Look on the heavens above thee. 
And on the earth and all that is therein ; 
Consider that God made them out of things 
That were not ; and that likewise in this manner 
Mankind was made. Then fear not this tor- 
mentor ; 
But, being worthy of thy brethren, take 
Thy death as they did, that I may receive thee 
Again in mercy with them. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I am mocked. 
Yea, I am laughed to scorn. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 137 

SIRION. 

Whom wait ye for ? 
Never will I obey tlie King's connnandineiit. 
But the commandment of the ancient Law, 
That was by Moses given unto our fathers. 
And thou, godless man, that of all others 
Art the most wicked, be not lifted up, 
Nor puffed up with uncertain hopes, uplifting 
Thy hand against the servants of the Lord, 
Por thou hast not escaped the righteous judg- 
ment 
Of the Almighty God, who seeth all things ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

He is no God of mine ; I fear him not. 

SIRION. 

My brothers, who have suffered a brief pain. 
Are dead ; but thou, Antiochus, shalt suffer 
The punishment of pride. I offer up 
My body and my life, beseeching God 



138 JUDAS MACCABJEUS. 

That lie would speedily be merciful 
Unto our nation, and that thou by plagues 
Mysterious and by torments mayest confess 
That he alone is God. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Te both shall perish 
By torments worse than any that your God, 
Here or hereafter, hath in store for me. 

THE MOTHER. 

My Sirion, I am proud of thee ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Be silent ! 
Go to thy bed of torture in yon chamber, 
Where lie so many sleepers, heartless mother ! 
Thy footsteps will not wake them, nor thy voice, 
Nor wilt thou hear, amid thy troubled dreams, 
Thy children crying for thee in the night ! 

THE MOTHER. 

Death, that stretchest thy white hands to me, 



JUDAS MACCABiEUS. 189 

I fear them not, "but press them to my lips, 
That are as white as thine ; for I am Death, 
N'ay, am the Mother of Death, seeing these sons 
All lying lifeless. — Kiss me, Sirion. 



140 JUDAS MACCABEUS, 



ACT ni. 

The Battle-field of Beth-Tioron, 
SCE!N"E I. Judas Maccabeus in armor before his tent, 

JCDAS. 

The trumpets sound ; the echoes of the moun- 
tains 
Answer them, as the Sabbath morning breaks 
Over Beth-horon and its battle-field, 
Where the great captain of the hosts of God, 
A slave brought up in the brick-fields of Eg}^t, 
O'ercame the Amorites. There was no day- 
Like that, before or after it, nor shall be. 
The sun stood still ; the hammers of the hail 
Beat on their harness ; and the captains set 
Their weary feet upon the necks of kings, 
As I will upon thine, Antiochus, 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 141 

Thou man of blood ! — Behold the rising snn 

Strikes on the golden letters of my banner, 

Be Elohim Yehovah ! Who is like 

To thee, Lord, among the gods ? — Alas ! 

I am not Joshua, I cannot say, 

'' Sun, stand thou still on Gibeon, and thou Moon, 

In Ajalon ! " Nor am I one who wastes 

The fateful time in useless lamentation ; 

But one who bears his life upon his hand 

To lose it or to save.it, as may best 

Serve the designs of Him who giveth life. 



SCENE II. Jtjdas Maccabeus ; Jewish Fugitives. 

JUDAS. 

Who and what are ye, that with furtive steps 
Steal in among our tents ? 

FUGITIVES. 

Maccabaeus, 
Outcasts are we, and fugitives as thou art, 



142^ JUDAS MACCABiEUS. 

Jews of Jerusalem, that have escaped 
From the polluted city, and from death. 

JUDAS. 

None can escape from death. Say that ye come 
To die for Israel, and ye are welcome. 
What tidings bring ye ? 

FUGITIVES. 

Tidings of despair. 
The Temple is laid waste ; the precious vessels, 
Censers of gold, vials and veils and crowns, 
And golden ornaments, and hidden treasures. 
Have all been taken from it, and the Gentiles 
With revelling and with riot fill its courts. 
And dally with harlots in the holy places. 

JUDAS. 

All this I knew before. 

FUGITIVES. 

Upon the altar 
Are things profane, things by the law forbidden ; 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 143 

Nor can we keep our Sabbaths or our leasts, 
But on the festivals of Dionysus 
Must walk in their processions, bearing ivy 
To crown a drunken god. 

JUDAS. 

This too I know. 
But tell me of the Jews. How fare the Jews ? 

FUGITIVES. 

The coming of this mischief hath been sore 
And grievous to the people. All the land 
Is full of lamentation and of mourning. 
The Princes and the Elders weep and wail ; 
The young men and the maidens are made feeble ; 
The beauty of the women hath been changed. 

JUDAS. 

And are there none to die for Israel ? 
'T is not enough to mourn. Breastplate and 
harness 



144 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 



Are better things than sackcloth. Let the wo- 
men 
Lament for Israel ; the men should die. 

FUGITIVES. 

Both men and women die ; old men and young : 
Old Eleazer died ; and Mahala 
With all her Seven Sons. 

JUDAS. 

Antiochns, 
At every step thou takest there is teft 
A bloody footprint in the street, by which 
The avenging wrath of God will track thee out ! 
It is enough. Go to the sutler's tents : 
Those of you who are men, put on such armor 
As ye may find ; those of you who are women, 
Buckle that armor on ; and for a watchword 
Whisper, or cry aloud, '^The Help of God." 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 145 



SCENE III. Judas MACCABisus ; Nicanor. 

NICANOR. 

Hail, Judas Maccabseus ! 

JUDAS. 

Hail! — AVho art thou 
That comest here in this mysterious guise 
Into our camp unheralded ? 

NICANOR. 

A herald 
Sent from Mcanor. 

JUDAS. 

Heralds come not thus. 
Armed with thy shirt of mail from head to heel, 
Thou glidest like a serpent silently 
Into my presence. Wherefore dost thou turn 
Thy face from me ? A herald speaks his errand 

10 



146 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

With forehead unabashed. Thou art a spy 
Sent by Nicanor. 

NICANOR. 

No disguise avails ! 
Behold my face ; I am Mcanor's self. 

JUDAS. 

Thou art indeed Meaner. I salute thee. 
What brings thee hither to this hostile camp 
Thus unattended ? 

NICANOR. 

Confidence in thee. 
Thou hast the nobler virtues of thy race, 
Without the failings that attend those virtues. 
Thou canst be strong, and yet not tyrannous, 
Canst righteous be and not intolerant. 
Let there be peace between us. 



JUDAS. 

What is peace ? 
Is it to bow in silence to our victors ? 



JUDAS MACCABJEUS. 147 

Is it to see our cities sacked and pillaged, 
Our people slain, or sold as slaves, or fleeing 
At night-time by the blaze of burning towns ; 
Jerusalem laid waste ; the Holy Temple 
Polluted with strange gods ? Are these things 
peace ? 

NICANOR. 

These are the dire necessities that wait 
On war, whose loud and bloody enginery 
I seek to stay. Let there be peace between 
Antiochus and thee. 

JUDAS. 

Antiochus ? 
What is Antiochus, that he should prate 
Of peace to me, who am a fugitive ? 
To-day he shall be lifted up ; to-morrow 
Shall not be found, because he is returned 
Unto his dust ; his thought has come to nothing. 
There is no peace between us, nor can be. 



148 JUDAS :.IACCAB^US. 

Until this banner floats upon the walls 
Of our Jerusalem. 

NICANOR. 

Between that city 
And thee there lies a waving wall of tents, 
Held by a host of forty thousand foot, 
And horsemen seven thousand. What hast 

thou 
To bring against all these ? y 

JTJDAS. 

The power of God, 
Whose breath shall scatter your white tents 

abroad, 
As flakes of snow. 

NICANOR. 

Your Mighty One in heaven 
Will not do battle on the Seventh Day ; 
It is his day of rest. 



JUDAS MACCABJiLUS. 149 

JUDAS. 

Silence, blasphemer. 
Go to tliy tents. 

NICANOR. 

Shall it be war or peace ? 

JUDAS. 

War, war, and only war. Go to thy tents 
That shall be scattered, as by you were scattered 
The torn and trampled pages of the Law, 
Blown through the mndy streets. 

NICANOR. 

Farewell, brave foe ! 

• JUDAS. 

Ho, there, my captains ! Have safe-conduct 

given 
Unto Mcanor's herald through the camp. 
And come yourselves to me. — Farewell, Meaner ! 



150 JUDAS ]MACCAB^US. 



SCEXE lY. Judas Maccabjeus ; Captains and Soldiers. 

JUDAS. 

The hour is come. Gather the host together 
For battle. Lo, with trumpets and with songs 
The army of Xicanor comes against us. 
Go forth to meet them, praying in your hearts, 
And fighting with your hands. 

CAPTAINS. 

Look forth and see ! 
The morning sun is shining on their shields 
Of gold and brass ; the mountains glisten with 

them, 
And shine hke lamps. And we who are so few 
And poorly armed, and ready to faint with fasting 



o^ 



How shall we fight against this multitude ? 



JUDAS. 

The victory of a battle standeth not 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 151 

In multitudes, but in the strength that cometh 
From heaven above. The Lord forbid that I 
Should do this thing, and flee away from them. 
Nay, if our hour be come, then let us die ; 
Let us not stain our honor. 

CAPTAINS. 

'T is the Sabbath. 
Wilt thou fight on the Sabbath, Maccabseus ? 

JUDAS. 

Ay ; when I fight the battles of the Lord, 
I fight them on his day, as on all others. 
Have ye forgotten certain fugitives 
That fled once to these hills, and hid themselves 
In caves ? How their pursuers camped against 

them 
Upon the Seventh Day, and challenged them ? 
And how they answered not, nor cast a stone. 
Nor stopped the places where they lay con- 
cealed, 



152 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

But meekly perished with their wives and chil- 
dren. 
Even to the nrunber of a thousand sonls ? 
We who are fighting for our laws and lives 
Will not so perish. 

CAPTAINS. 

Lead us to the battle ! 

JUDAS. 

And let our watchword be, '' The Help of God !" 

ILast night I dreamed a dream ; and in my \'ision 

Beheld Onias, our Hioh-Priest of old, 

Who holding up his hands prayed for the Jews. 

This done, in the like manner there appeared 

An old man, and exceeding glorious. 

With hoary hair, and of a wonderful 

And excellent majesty. And Onias said: 

" This is a lover of the Jews, who prayeth 

Much for the people and the Holy City, — 

God's prophet Jeremias." And the prophet 



JUDAS MACCABJEUS. 153 

Held forth his right hand and gave unto me 
A sword of gold ; and giving it he said : 
" Take thou this holy sword, a gift from God, 
And with it thou shalt wound thine adversaries." 

CAPTAINS. 

The Lord is with us ! 

JUDAS. 

Hark ! I hear the trumpets 
Sound from Beth-horon; from the battle-field 
Of Joshua, where he smote the Amorites, 
Smote the Five Kings of Eglon and of Jarmuth, 
Of Hebron, Lachish, and Jerusalem, 
As we to-day will smite Mcanor's hosts, 
And leave a memory of great deeds behind us. 

CAPTAINS AND SOLDIERS. 

The Help of God ! 

JUDAS. 

Be Elohim Yehovah ! 



154 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

Lord, thou didst send thine Angel in the time 

Of Ezekias, King of Israel, 

And in the armies of Sennacherib 

Didst slay a hundred fourscore and five thou- 
sand. 

Wherefore, Lord of heaven, now also send 

Before us a good angel for a fear, 

And through the might of thy right arm, let 
those 

Be stricken with terror that have come this day 

Against thy holy people to blaspheme ! 



JUDAS MACCAB^^US. 155 



ACT lY. 

The outer Courts of the Temple at Jerusalem, 
SCE'N'E I. JiJD AS Maccabeus; Captains; Jews. 

JUDAS. 

Behold, our enemies are discomfited. 
Jerusalem is fallen ; and our banners 
Float from her battlements, and o'er her gates 
Mcanor's severed head, a sign of terror, 
Blackens in ^ind and sun. 

CAPTAINS. 

Maccabaeus, 
The citadel of Antiochus, wherein 
The Mother with her Seven Sons was murdered. 
Is still defiant. 

JUDAS. 

Wait. 



156 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

CA.PTAINS. 

Its hateful aspect 
Insults us with the bitter memories 
Of other days. 

JUDAS. 

Wait ; it shall disappear 
And vanish as a cloud. First let us cleanse 
The Sanctuary. See, it is become 
Waste like a wilderness. Its golden gates 
Wrenched from their hinges and consumed by 

fire; 
Shrubs growing in its courts as in a forest ; 
Upon its altars hideous and strange idols ; 
And strewn about its pavement at my feet 
Its Sacred Books, half burned and painted o'er 
With images of heathen gods. 

JEWS. 

Woe ! woe ! 
Our beauty and our glory are laid waste ! 
The Gentiles have profaned our holy places ! 

Lamentation and alarm of trumpets. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 157 

JUDAS. 

This sound of trumpets, and this lamentation, 
The heart-cry of a people toward the heavens, 
Stir me to wrath and vengeance. Go, my cap- 
tains ; 
I hold you back no longer. Batter down 
The citadel of Antiochus, while here 
We sweep away his altars and his gods. 



SCENE II. Judas Maccabeus ; Jason ; Jews. 

JEWS. 

Lurking among the ruins of the Temple, 
Deep in its inner courts, we found this man. 
Clad as High-Priest. 

JUDAS. 

I ask not who thou art. 
I know thy face, writ over with deceit 
As are these tattered volumes of the Law 



158 JUDAS MACCABJEUS. 

With heathen images. A priest of God 
"Wast thou in other clayS; but thou art now 
A priest of Satan. Traitor, thou art Jason. 

JASON. 

I am thy prisoner, Judas Maccabseus, 
And it would ill become me to conceal 
My name or office. 

JUDAS. 

Over yonder gate 
There hangs the head of one who was a Greek. 
"WTiat should prevent me now, thou man of sin, 
From hanging at its side the head of one 
Who born a Jew hath made himself a Greek ? 

JASON. 

Justice prevents thee. 

JUDAS- 

Justice ? Thou art stained 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 159 

With every crime 'gainst which the Decalogue 
Thunders with all its thunder. 

JASON. 

If not Justice, 
Then Mercy, her handmaiden. 

JUDAS. 

"When hast thou 
At any time, to any man or woman, 
Or even to any little child, shown mercy ? 

JASON. 

I have but done what King Antiochus 
Commanded me. ^ 

JUDAS. 

True, thou hast been the weapon 
With which he struck ; but hast been such a 

weapon. 
So flexible, so fitted to his hand 
It tempted him to strike. So thou hast urged him 



160 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

To double wickedness, thine own and his. 
Where is this King ? Is he in Antioch 
Among his women still/ and from his windows 
Throwing down gold by handfuls, for the rabble 
To scramble for ? 

JASON. 

Nay, he is gone from there, 
Gone with an army into the far East. 



JUDAS. 



And wherefore gone ? 



JASON. 

I know not. For the space 
Of forty days almost were horsemen seen 
Eunning in air, in cloth of gold, and armed 
With lances, like a band of soldiery ; 
It was a sign of triumph. 

JUDAS. 

Or of death. 
Wherefore art thou not with him ? 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 161 



JASON. 

I was left 
For service in the Temple. 

JUDAS. 

To pollute it, 
And to corrupt the Jews ; for there are men 
"Whose presence is corruption ; to be with them 
Degrades us and deforms the things we do. 

JASON. 

I never made a boast, as some men do. 

Of my superior virtue, nor denied 

The weakness of my nature, that hath made me 

Subservient to the will of other men. 

JUDAS. 

Upon this day, the five-and-twentieth day 
Of the month Caslan, was the Temple here 
Profaned by strangers, ■ — by Antiochus 
And thee'^ his instrument. Upon this day 
Shall it be cleansed. Thou, who didst lend thyself 
11 



162 JUDAS MACCABiEUS. 

Unto this profanation, canst not be 
A witness of these solemn services. 
There can be nothing clean where thou art 

present. 
The people put to death Callisthenes, 
Who burned the Temple gates ; and if they find 

thee 
Will surely slay thee. I will spare thy life 
To punish thee the longer. Thou shalt wander 
Among strange nations. Thou, that hast cast out 
So many from their native land, shalt perish 
In a strange land. Thou, that hast left so many 
Unburied, shalt have none to mourn for thee, 
Nor any solemn funerals at all, 
Nor sepulchre with thy fathers. — Get thee 

hence ! 

Music. Procession of Priests and 2)eople, with citherns, 
harps, and cymbals. Judas Maccabeus piUs him- 
self at their head, and they go into the inner courts. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 163 

SCENE III. Jason, alone. 

♦ 

JASON. 

Through the Gate Beautiful I see them come 
"With branches and green boughs and leaves of 

palm. 
And pass into the inner courts. Alas ! 
I should be with them, should be one of them, 
But in an evil hour, an hour of weakness, 
That Cometh unto all, I fell away 
-From the aid faith, and did not clutch the new, 
Only an outward semblance of belief; 
Tor the new faith I cannot make mine own, 
Not being born to it. It hath no root 
Within me. I am neither Jew nor Greek, 
But stand between them both, a renegade 
To each in turn ; having no longer faith 
In gods or men. Then what mysterious charm. 
What fascination is it chains my feet. 
And keeps me gazing like a curious child 



164: JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

V 

Into the holy places, where the priests 
Save raised their altar ? — Striking stones to- 
gether, 
They take fire out of them, and light the lamps 
In the great candlestick They spread the veils, 
And set the loaves of showbread on the table. 
The incense burns ; the well-remembered odor 
Comes wafted unto me, and takes me back 
To other days. I see myself among them ■ 
As I was then ; and the old superstition \ 
Creeps over me again ! — A childish fancy ! — * 
And hark ! they sing with citherns and with 

cymbals. 
And aU the people fall upon their faces. 
Praying and worshipping ! — I will away 
Into the East, to meet Antiochus 
Upon his homeward journey, crowned with tri- 
umph. 
Alas ! to-day I would give everything 
To see a friend's face, or to hear a voice 
That had the slightest tone of comfort in it I 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 165 



ACT Y. 

TTie Mountains of Ecbatana. 
SCENE I. Antiochus ; Philip ; Attendants. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Here let us rest awhile. AVhere are we, Pliilip ? 
What place is this ? 

PHILIP. 

My Lord, these are the mountains 
Of Ecbatana. These are the Orontes. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

The Orontes is my river at Antioch. 
Why did I leave it ? Why have I been tempted 
By coverings of gold and shields and breast- 
plates 
To plunder Elymais, and be driven 

12 



166 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

From out its gates, as by a fiery blast 
Out of a furnace ? 

PHILIP. 



These are fortune's changes. 



ANTIOCHUS. 

What a defeat it was ! The Persian horsemen 
Came like a mighty wind, the wind Khamaseen, 
And melted us away, and scattered us 
As if we were dead leaves, or desert sand. 

PHILIP. 

Be comforted, my Lord ; for thou hast lost 
But what thou hadst not. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I, who made the Jews 
Skip like the grasshoppers, am made myself 
To skip among these stones. 



PHILIP. 



Be not discouraged. 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 167 

Thy realm of Syria remains to tliee ; 
That is not lost nor marred. - 

ANTIOCHUS. 

O, where are now 
The splendors of my court, my baths and ban- 
quets ? 
Where are my players and my dancing women ? 
Where are my sweet musicians with their pipes, 
That made me merry in the olden time ? 
I am a laughing-stock to man and brute. 
The very camels, with their ugly faces, 
Mock me and laugh at me. 

PHILIP. 

Alas ! mv Lord, 
It is not so. If thou wouldst sleep awhile, 
All would be well. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Sleep from mine eyes is gone, 
And my heart faileth me for very care. 



168 Jin>AS MACCABJEUS. 

Dost thou remember, PHlip, the old fable 
Told us when we were boys, in which the bear 
Going for honey overturns the hive, 
And is stung blind by bees ? I am that beast. 
Stung by the Persian swarms of Elymais. 

PHnip. 
^Mien thou art come again to Antioch 
These thoughts will be as covered and forgotten 
As are the tracks of Pharaoh's chariot-wheels 
In the Egj-ptian sands. 

AXnOCHTS. 

Ah ! when I come 
Again to Antioch ! AYhen will that be ? 
Alas ! alas ! 



SCE^E II. A^-TIOCH^s; Philip; A Messenger, 

MESSENGER, 

May the King live forever ! 



JUDAS lilACCAB^US. 169 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Who art thou, and whence comest thou ? 



MESSENGER. 



My Lord, 



I am a messenger from Antioch, 
Sent here by Lysias. 



ANTIOCHUS. 

A strange foreboding 
Of something evil overshadows me. 
I am no reader of the Jewish Scriptures ; 
I know not Hebrew ; but my High-Priest Jason, 
As I remember, told me of a Prophet 
Who saw a little cloud rise from the sea 
Like a man's hand, and soon the heaven was 

black 
With clouds and rain. Here, Philip, read; I 

cannot ; 
I see that cloud. It makes the letters dim 
Before mine eyes. 



170 JUDAS MACCABEUS. 

PHiLiPj reading. 

" To King Antioclius, 
The God, Epiphanes/' 

AXTIOCHTS. 

mockery ! 

Even Lysias laughs at me ! — Go on, go on ! 

PHiLiPj reading, 
'' We pray thee hasten thy return. The reahn 
Is falling from thee. Since thou hast gone from us 
The factories of Judas Maccabaeus 
Eorm all our annals. First he overthrew 
Thy forces at Beth-horon, and passed on, 
And took Jerusalem, the Holy City. 
And then Emmaus fell ; and then Bethsura ; 
Ephron and all the towns of Galaad, 
And Maccabaeus marched to Carnion." 

AXTIOCHrS. 

Enough, enough ! Go call my chariot-men ; 



JUDAS MACCABEUS. 171 

We will drive forward, forward without ceasing, 
Until we come to Antioch. My captains. 
My Lysias, Gorgias, Seron, and Mcanor, 
Are babes in battle, and this dreadful Jew 
WiU rob me of my kingdom and my crown. 
My elephants shall trample him to dust ; 
I will wipe out his nation, and will make 
Jerusalem a common burying-place. 
And every home within its walls a tomb ! 

Throws up Ms hands, and sinks into the arms of 
attendants, who lay him upon a hank, 

PHILIP. 

Antiochus ! Antiochus ! Alas, 

The King is ill ! What is it, my Lord ? 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Nothing. A sudden and sharp spasm of pain, 
As if the lightning struck me, or the knife 
Of an assassin smote me to the heart. 
'T is passed, even as it came. Let us set forward. 



172 JUDAS MACCA.B.EUS. 

PHILIP. 

See that the chariots be in readiness ; 
^"e will depart forthwith. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

A moment more. 
I cannot stand. I am become at once 
Weak as an infant. Ye will have to lead me. 
Jove, or Jehovah, or whatever name 
Thou wouldst be named, — it is alike to me, — 
If I knew how to pray, I would entreat 
To live a little longer. 

PHILIP. 

my Lord, 
Thou shalt not die ; we will not let thee die ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

How canst thou help it, Philip ? the pain ! 
Stab after stab. Thou hast no shield against 
This unseen weapon. God of Israel, 
Since all the other gods abandon me. 



JUDAS MACCABiECS. 173 

Help me. I will release the Holy City, 
Garnish with goodly gifts the Holy Temple. 
Thy people, whom I judged to be unworthy 
To be so much as buried, shall be equal 
Unto the citizens of Antioch. 
I will become a Jew, and will declare 
Through all the world that is inhabited 
The power of God ! 

PHILIP. 

He faints. It is like death. 
Bring here the royal litter. We will bear him 
Into the camp, while yet he lives. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

PhiHp, 
Into what tribulation am I come ! 
Alas ! I now remember all the evil 
That I have done the Jews ; and for this cause 
These troubles are upon me, and behold 
I perish through great grief in a strange land. 



174 JUDAS :\IACCABXUS. 



PHILIP. 



Antioclius : my King ! 



AXnOCHUS. 

Xav, King: no longer. 
Take tliou my royal robes, my signet -ring, 
My crown and sceptre, and deliver them 
Unto my son, Antiochns Eupator ; 
And imto the good Jews, my citizens, 
In all my towns, say that their d}ing monarch 
Wisheth them joy, prosperity, and health. 
I who, puffed up with pride and arrogance, 
Thons^ht all the kins:doms of the earth mine own, 
If I would but outstretch my hand and take them, 
Meet face to face a greater potentate, 
King Death — Epiphanes — the lUustrious ! 

Dies. 



BOOK THIED. 



A HANDFUL OF TRANSLATIONS. 



, THE FUGITIVE. 

Tartar Song, from the Prose Version of CliodzTco, 

I. 

'' He is gone to the desert land ! 
I can see the shining mane 
Of his horse on the distant plain. 
As he rides with his Kossak band ! 

'' Come back, rebellious one ! 
Let thy proud heart relent ; 
Come back to my tall, white tent. 
Come back, my only son ! 

'' Thy hand in freedom shall 
Cast thy hawks, when morning breaks. 
On the swans of the Seven Lakes, 
On the lakes of Karajal. 

12 



178 TRANSLATIOXS. 

*' I will crive thee leave to stray 
And pasture thy hunting steeds 
In the long grass and the reeds 
' Of the meadows of Karaday. 



" I will give thee my coat of mail, 
Of softest leather made, 
With choicest steel inlaid ; 
"Will not all this preyail ? " 



THE FUGITIVE. 179 



II. 

" This hand no longer shall 
Cast my hawks, when morning breaks, 
On the swans of the Seven Lakes, 
On the lakes of KarajaL 

" I will no longer stray 
And pasture my hunting steeds 
In the long grass and the reeds 
Of the meadows of Karaday. 

" Though thou give me thy coat of mail. 
Of softest leather made, 
"With choicest steel inlaid. 
All this cannot prevail 

" What right hast thou, Khan, 
To me, who am mine own, 



180 THANSLATIOXS. 

Who am slave to God alone, 
And not to any man ? 

" God will appoint the day 

When I again shall be 

By the blue, shallow sea, 

Where the steel-bright sturgeons play. 

'' God, who doth care for me, 
In the barren wilderness, 
On unknown hills, no less 
Will my companion be. 

"When I wander lonely and lost 
In the wind ; when I watch at ni^ht 
Like a hungry wolf, and am white 
And covered with hoar-frost ; 

" Tea, wheresoever I be. 
In the vellow desert sands. 
In mountains or unknown lands, 
Allah will care for me ! " 



THE FUGITIVE. 181 



III. 

Then Sobra, the old, old man, — 
Three hundred and sixty years 
Had he lived in this land of tears^ 
Bowed down and said^ ^' Khan ! 

" If you bid me, I will speak. 
There 's no sap in dry grass, 
No marrow in dry bones ! Alas, 
The mind of old men is weak ! 

" I am old, I am very old : 
I have seen the primeval man, i 
I have seen the great Gengis Khan, 
Arrayed in his robes of gold. 

" What I say to you is the truth ; 
And I say to you, Khan, 



182 TRANSLATIONS. 

Pursue not the star-white man, 
Pursue not the beautiful youth. 

'' Him the Almighty made, 
And brouo^ht him forth of the li^ht. 
At the vero'e and end of the nio^ht, 
When men on the mountain prayed 

'•' He was born at the break of dav, 
^Yhen abroad the angels walk ; 
He hath listened to their talk. 
And he knoweth what they say. 

'' Gifted with Allah's grace, 
Like the moon of Piamazan 
When it shines in the skies, Kian, 
Is the light of his beautiful face. 

" When first on earth he trod, 
^ The first words that he said 



THE FUGITIVE. 183 

Were these, as lie stood and prayed, 
There is no God but God ! 

" And he shall be king of men. 
For Allah hath heard his prayer, 
And the Archangel in the air, 
Gabriel, hath said. Amen ! " 



THE SIEGE OF KAZAX. 
Tartar Song,Jrom the Prose Version of Chodzh). 

Black are the moors before Kazan, 
> And their stagnant waters smell of blood 
I said in my heart, with horse and man, 
I will swim across this shallow flood. 

Under the feet of Areramack, 

Lite new moons were the shoes he bare. 
Silken trappings hung on his back, 
In a talisman on his neck, a prayer. 

My warriors, thought I, are following me ; 

But when I looked behind, alas 1 
Xot one of all the band could I see, 

AU had sunk in the black morass ! 



THE SIEGE OF KAZAN. 185 

Where are our shallow fords ? and where 
The powder of Kazan with its fourfold gates ? 

Trom the prison windows our maidens fair 
Talk of us still through the iron grates. 

We cannot hear them ; for horse and man 
Lie buried deep in the dark ahyss ! 

Ah ! the black day hath come down on Kazan ! 
Ah ! was ever a grief like this ? 



THE BOY A^'D TEE BROOK. 

Armenian Popular Song, from the Prose Version of 

Alishan, 

Dowx from yon distant mountain height 

The brooklet flows through the tillage street ; 
A boy comes forth to wash his hands, 
Washing, yes washing, there he stands, 
In the water cool and sweet. 

Brook, from what mountain dost thou come 

my brooklet cool and sweet ! 
I come from yon mountain high and cold, 

AMiere lieth the new snow on the old, 
And melts in the summer heat. 

Brook, to what river dost thou go ? 

my brooklet cool and sweet ! 



r 



THE BOY AND THE BROOK. 187 

I go to the river there below 
Where in bunches the violets grow, 
And sun and shadow meet. 

Brook, to what garden dost thou go ? ' 

my brooklet cool and sweet ! 
I go to the garden in the vale 
Where all night long the nightingale 
Her love-song doth repeat. 

Brook, to what fountain dost thou go ? 

my brooklet cool and sweet ! 
I go to the fountain at whose brink 
The maid that loves thee comes to drink, 
And whenever she looks therein, 
I rise to meet her, and kiss her chin, 

And my joy is then complete. 



TO THE STORK. 

Armenian Popular Song, from the Prose Version of 
Alishan. 



Welcome, Stork ! that dost wing 
Thy flight from the far-away ! 

Thou hast brought us the signs of Spring, 
Thou hast made our sad hearts gay. 

Descend, Stork ! descend 

Upon our roof to rest ; 
In our ash-tree, my friend, 

My darling, make thy nest. 

To thee, Stork, I complain, 

Stork, to thee I impart 
The thousand sorrows, the pain 

And aching of my heart. 



TO THE STORK. 189 

"When thoii away didst go. 

Away from this tree of ours, 
The withering winds did blotv, 

And dried up all the flowers. 

Dark grew the brilliant sky. 

Cloudy and dark and drear ; 
They were breaking the snow on high, 

And winter was drawing near. 

From Varaca's rocky wall, 

Trom the rock of Varaca unrolled, 

The snow came and covered all. 
And the green meadow was cold. 

Stork, our garden with snow 

Was hidden away and lost. 
And the rose-trees that in it grow 

Were withered by snow and frost. 



CONSOLATION. 

To M. Duperrier^ Gentleman of Aix in Provence^ on the 
Death of his Daughter. 

FEOM IVIALHERBE. 

Will then, Duperrier, thy sorrow be eternal ? 

And shall the sad discourse 
Whispered within thy heart, by tenderness pa- 
ternal, 

Only augment its force ? v 



Thy daughter's mournful fate, into the tomb 
descending 

By death's frequented ways. 
Has it become to thee a labyrinth never ending. 

Where thy lost reason strays ? 



CONSOLATION. 191 

I know the charms that made her youth a hene- 
diction : 

Nor should I be content. 
As a censorious friend, to solace thine affliction, 

By her disparagement. 

But she was of the world, which fairest things 
exposes 
To fates the most forlorn ; 
A rose, she too hath lived as long as live the 
roses. 
The space of one brief morn. 

***** 

Death has his rigorous laws, unparalleled, un- 
feeling ; 
All prayers to him are vain ; 
Cruel, he stops his ears, and, deaf to our appeal- 
ing, 
He leaves us to complain. 



192 TRA>-SLATIO>rS. 

The poor man in his hut, with only thatch for 
cover. 
Unto these laws must bend ; 
The sentinel that guards the barriers of the 

Louvre 
Cannot our kings defend 

To murmur against death, in petulant defiance. 
Is never for the best ; 

To will what God doth will, that is the only 
science 
That gives us any rest 



TO CARDINAL EICHELIEU. 



FROM MALHEEBE. 



Thou miglity Prince of Cliurcli and State, 
Eichelieu ! until the hour of death, 
"Whatever road man chooses. Fate 
Still holds him subject to her breath. 
Spun of all silks, our days and nights 
Have sorrows woven with delights ; 
And of this intermingled shade 
Our various destiny appears. 
Even as one sees the course of years 
Of summers and of winters made. 

Sometimes the soft, deceitful hours 
Let us enjoy the halcyon wave ; 
Sometimes impending peril lowers 
Beyond the seaman's skill to save. 

13 



194 



TRANSLATIONS. 




The Wisdom, infinitely wise. 
That gives to human destinies 
Their foreoidained necessity. 
Has made no law more fixed below. 
Than the alternate ebb and flow 
Of Fortune and Adversity. 



/ 




THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD. 

FROM JEAN KEBOUL, THE BAKER OF NISMES. 

An angel witli a radiant face, 

Above a cradle bent to look, 
Seemed his own image there to trace, 

As in the waters of a brook. 

'' Dear child ! who me resemblest so," 
It whispered, " come, come with me ! 

Happy together let ns go, 

The earth unworthy is of thee ! 

^^ Here none to perfect bliss attain ; 

The soul in pleasure suffering lies ; 
Joy hath an undertone of pain. 

And even the happiest hours their sighs. 



196 TRANSLATIONS. 

" Fear clotli at every portal knock ; 

Xever a clay serene and pure 
From the overshadowing tempest's shock 

Hath made the morrow's dawn secure. 



'' What, then, shall sorrows and shall fears 
Come to disturb so pure a brow ? 

And with the bitterness of tears 
These eyes of azure troubled grow ? 

'' Ah no ! into the fields of space, 
Away shalt thou escape with me ; 

And Providence will oTant thee cnrace 
Of all the days that were to be. 

" Let no one in thy dwelling cower, 

In sombre vestments draped and veiled ; 

But let them welcome thy last hour, 
As thy first moments once they hailed. 



THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD. 197 

" Without a cloud be there eacli brow ; 

There let the grave no shadow cast ; 
When one is pure as thou art now, 

The fairest day is still the last." 

And waving wide his wings of white, 
The angel, at these words, had sped 

Towards the eternal realms of light ! — 
Poor mother ! see, thy son is dead ! 



TO ITALY 



FROM FILICAJA. 



Italy ! Italy ! thou who 'rt doomed to wear 
The fatal gift of beauty, and possess 
The dower funest of infinite wretchedness, 
Written upon thy forehead by despair ; 

Ah ! would that thou wert stronger, or less 
fair. 
That they might fear thee more, or love thee 

less. 
Who in the splendor of thy loveliness 
Seem wasting, yet to mortal combat dare ! 

Then from the Alps I should not see descend- 



ing 



Such torrents of armed men, nor Gallic horde 
Drinking the wave of Po, distained with 
gore. 



TO ITALY. 199 

Nor should I see thee girded with a sword 
Not thine, and with the stranger's arm con- 
tending, 
Victor or vanquished, slave forevermore. 



WANDEEER'S NIGHT-SONGS. 

FROM GOETHE. 
I. 

Thou that from the heavens art, 
Every pain and sorrow stillest, 
And the doubly wretched heart 
Doubly with refreshment fillest, 
I am weary with contending ! 
Why this rapture and unrest ? 
Peace descending 
Come, ah, come into my breast ! 

II. 
O'er all the hill-tops 
Is quiet now. 
In all the tree-tops 
Hearest thou 



wanderer's night-songs. 201 

Hardly a breath ; 

The birds are asleep in the trees : 

Wait ; soon like these 

Thou too shalt rest. 



EEMORSE. 



FROM AUGUST VON PLATEN. 



How I started up in the night, in the night, 
Drawn on without rest or reprieval ! 

The streets, with their watchmen, were lost to 
my sight, 
As I wandered so light 
In the nioht, in the nis^ht, 

Through the gate with the arch mediaeval. 

The mill-brook rushed from the rocky height, 
I leaned o'er the bridge in my yearning ; 

Deep under me watched I the waves in their 
flight, 
As they glided so light 
In the night, in the night, 

Yet backward not one was returning. 



REMORSE. 203 

Overhead were revolving, so countless and bright, 

The stars in melodious existence; 
And with them the moon, more serenely be- 
dight; — 

They sparkled so light 

In the night, in the night, 
Through the magical, measureless distance. 

And upward I gazed in the night, in the night. 
And again on the waves in their fleeting ; 

Ah woe ! thou hast wasted thy days in delight. 
Now silence thou light. 
In the night, in the night, 

The remorse in thy heart that is beating. 



Rcrr"2? 



SANTA TERESA'S BOOK-MARK. 

FROM THE SPANISH OF SANTA TERESA. 

Let nothing disturl) thee, , 
Nothing affright thee ; 
All things are passing ; 
God never changeth ; 
Patient endurance 
Attaineth to all things ; 
Who God possesseth 
In nothing is wanting ; 
Alone God sufficeth. 



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